Some Lovers
by Marianne Bennet
Summary: Linked one-shots on Fenris and Ariadne Hawke's relationship. Will not be in chronological order. Or any logical order for that matter. Each piece is roughly 1000 words and inspired by a prompt.
1. 001 Crash

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**001: Crash**

In their first moments of marital life, Aveline and Donnic made things look so easy. Even though Ariadne Hawke was well aware that the relationship between the guard and his captain had not begun with the same ease, she could not help but approve of Aveline's easy smile, the self-assured way that Donnic held his new wife close to him, and the cheerful good wishes of the crowd. Admiration turned to envy when a certain guest, lingering on the outskirts of said crowd, turned toward Hawke and met the known apostate's eyes with a crooked smile.

_Damn it. _She quickly looked down at the full skirt of her blue gown, smoothing the silk against her lap, wincing as her palms came into contact with the almost healed gouge in her thigh, a memento of a close call with the Arishok's blade. She tried to focus on the matter at hand –the celebration at that –imagining what Leandra Amell would have to say about Aveline's wedding. Hawke's mother would have smiled over it all, making certain that everything would have gone off without a hitch from some reserved corner of the room. Hawke wondered what her mother would have had to say about the lending out of the Amell Estate –_"Something borrowed," _Leandra would have said. Something old… Donnic's decrepit mother would perhaps suffice, hobbling about the hall with champagne in hand. Aveline's dress was new and Hawke's mood was certainly blue enough, considering…

"Hawke." He had crossed the room unnoticed while she had been thinking of other things, things that were more appropriate to a wedding. "You look…" he hesitated.

_Sad? Heartbroken? Orphaned? Can one look orphaned? Angry? Hurt? Beautiful? You called me beautiful. _"You look… happy," he finished his sentence this time.

She flashed him a smile. Good humor was her weapon tonight, a suitable replacement for that ridiculous key-thing that her father seemed to have left her as legacy. "Then the Lord Seneschal's Men lost out on a talented player when Meredith named me Champion."

A crease crossed Fenris's forehead. "I can't see you on stage."

"I'm sure that an apostate actor would draw some attention," she replied. She didn't ask him to sit down and join her; she hoped that he noticed that. She was still angry with him for suggesting that she duel the Arishok to begin with and frustrated with him for… other less public matters.

He sat down anyway, as she knew he would. Even after six years on the run, Fenris liked to flout that no one could tell him what to do. "I'm not entirely certain that I'm supposed to be here," he admitted to Hawke without looking at her.

She shrugged. "You're crashing in a broken down mansion. I'm sure that one wedding seems negligible on that track record."

"I _was_ given an invitation."

"Oh."

"How long did it take you and Aveline to write out all of those?"

Hawke shrugged again, pushing down embarrassment. "Brennan helped. A little. It isn't my fault that Donnic has no sisters to play bridesmaids."

"Only younger brothers wanting to get drunk on your money," replied Fenris dryly, observing said men from across the room.

"How do you know it's _my_ money?"

"Because you _have _money, Hawke. A guard captain's wages could not pay for all of this." He waved a hand to indicate the room and all it contained: the food, the wine, the indoor fountain. "And you would help a friend."

The corners of her mouth twisted upward despite herself. "The fountain goes back to the de Puis estate tomorrow."

"So _I _am not the only one who breaks into mansions, never mind steal things."

"You're forgetting that I _helped_ you capture Danarius's manor to begin with."

"True," he allowed with a small, permissive smile. "Although I still remain mystified as to why you did such a thing."

"It's as you just said. I help my friends." She rubbed her palms against her dress's material again, pressed down too hard on that same wound again. She flinched.

He watched her. "I was no friend to you then."

"But you might've been."

"Have you the gift of second sight then?"

Hawke did not immediately reply. Finally: "Sometimes I wish I did." Then, quickly, to hastily change the subject: "Why did you say that you don't think you should be here?"

Seemingly taken aback, Fenris hesitated. "I… I have never struck myself as the sort of person that is invited to weddings."

"We invited Isabela, didn't we?"

"I haven't seen her."

"No one's seen her," was Hawke's response. "But we invited her all the same."

"Good," Fenris settled back into his seat. "Let her see what she is missing out on while she hides in Rivain."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "I'm just surprised that she hasn't shown up. Aveline's wedding night seems like too great an opportunity for her to miss out on."

"I can imagine," he chuckled. "She must be counting on Varric to make up the difference."

"Undoubtedly he'll come up with something." _He compared you to an angst-y porcupine when he first heard about us. I can't say that I disagree much._

Aveline and Donnic were dancing again. Hawke watched her friend's cream-colored dress peek out from between guests' backs. "How do you think they do it?" she was suddenly struck to ask. "Other people. Are things just that much easier for them or do they just make it look that way?"

"I don't know," was Fenris's unhelpful but apparently honest answer. He shifted his weight in his chair; the piece of furniture moved all that closer to Hawke. She looked at the now narrower distance between them; wondered if he had done that on purpose. "I often wonder that myself. Do you think they sometimes wonder what you did to make your life so exciting, to win yourself a title and a mansion?"

"They can't know," Hawke answered quietly, "because, if they did, they wouldn't want to wonder."

"True," he turned and his green eyes met hers. "You and I know that living in a mansion isn't always the reward of a happy life."

…

**A/N: **I read "crash" as the prompt; I thought "wedding." Go figure. But I loved writing this. If the rationale doesn't make sense… whatever. This is what the word inspired me to write. ;)


	2. 002 Dim

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**002: Dim**

The sun's glimmer against the massive statue of Andraste seemed to make all else in the Chantry appear darker in contrast. It did not completely eclipse all other light perhaps, but the glitter served to create dim areas across the tiles and carpeting between sunlight and shadow, spots of gray in a world that the Chant claimed was divided into black and white.

Ariadne Hawke raised a hand up to her forehead, telling herself that she was shielding her face from the sun's glare and not hiding from the look Elthina was giving her. Sometimes –often actually –the grand cleric made Hawke feel about two inches tall. "Revenge against Lady Harimman will not grant anyone peace, Mistress Hawke. I beg you: use your influence with Sebastian to guide him away from this path as he will not heed my counsel."

"Revenge does usually make people feel better," said Hawke demurely in return and heard Fenris chuckle. "And it does help me make a lot of friends." Varric snorted at that.

Elthina shook her head feebly. "I am helpless in this matter as you well know. But at least try to keep Sebastian from succumbing to violet means."

"I am a talker by nature, your grace," she replied with a little half-bow. Elthina turned her eyes upward, perhaps privately asking for divine providence, and then retired up the stairs. The moment she was gone, Isabela started laughing.

"What a useless creature," the pirate said with a snort. "Tell me we're not listening to her, Hawke."

"We're definitely going to the Harimmans," she answered, turning away from the statues and moving toward the door. "Who can say what will happen when we're once there?"

"Can we be sneaky?" asked Isabela, a grin widening across her face. "Or maybe we should be dramatic. Can we be sneaky and then dramatic?"

"I'm sure I can think of a couple of good lines," she said and then glanced toward Varric, perplexed by the dwarf's lack of input. "You're being awfully quiet."

"What can I say?" Varric shrugged. "I don't like getting mixed up in all of this political-religious crap with Choir Boy."

Hawke pretended to pout. "But think of all of the lies and exaggerations you can tell about me when this is all said and done. I for one can't wait to hear them. Considering that I never would have actually done any of them."

"You'd be surprised. Every lie is best when built on a bit of truth. Historical context even will do it. But the audience has to be able to think back and say to themselves, 'Oh, I heard about_ something_ like that happening.' It's like alchemy: truth and falsehood in the right measures." Varric sighed. "Look, Hawke: I'll be here if you need me. Rivaini and I better get back to the Hanged Man before it gets too dark. I don't think you and Aveline flushed out all of those stupid mutt lords. You and Fenris make sure you get back to your respective palaces safe, alright?"

Hawke placed a hand over her heart. "I didn't know you cared."

"I am fluent in sarcasm, Hawke. So is Isabela, if she was paying attention."

"I am paying attention," she heard Isabela object as Varric guided the pirate out of the Chantry.

She watched the giant doors swing shut behind their exit and then turned around to catch sight of Fenris staring up at the huge statue, still glimmering in the last of the afternoon's light. His back was to her; she took a few steps toward him and asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Why?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"I want to know. You always look like you're thinking of something but you don't ever say anything."

Fenris seemed to consider this and then he turned back toward the statue with a slight chuckle. "_You _say what's on your mind. I'll give you that."

"You've said that before." She took another step forward, slowly.

"Perhaps I am running out of things to say."

"You could ask any of our companions for suggestions," she replied with a laugh. "Isabela would surely be happy to help."

"Do you have something in mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can't I ask you for suggestions?" Fenris asked with a shrug before turning completely to face her. He bowed ever so slightly. "Tell me what you would like to hear from me, Hawke."

She was taken aback; she was used to playing with people, flirting with them on her own initiative, not used to having someone –never imagining Fenris of all people –flirting with her in return. "You don't have to call me 'Hawke,' for one thing."

"I like calling you 'Hawke.'"

"But it's what _I_ want that matters now." She took a final step forward. "You asked me what _I_ would like, after all."

She watched his eyes darken for a moment but then something in him seemed to stop. He broke eye contact, looked up at the statue, at the doors, maybe he even looked over at Sebastian standing beside the Revered Mother. What mattered was that he was looking anywhere but at her and Hawke felt herself take a step back in response.

"Fenris," she said suddenly, calling his attention back to her in the instant. "What I want to know is… why are you still here? I'm not asking you leave or anything –I don't want you to leave. But you don't seem particularly happy in Kirkwall and you could have moved on and yet you haven't. Why?" He didn't say anything. "I'd like to know."

A moment passed between them. He still didn't say anything; Hawke wished that she hadn't said anything to begin with. And then, evenly, he answered, "I enjoy following you."

Some young initiate was just beginning to recite the Chant of Light. Maybe she was practicing, maybe it was the real service; Hawke didn't know. What she did realize was just how beautiful the words seemed and how a sound so lovely could still mean nothing at all.

…

**A/N: **Again, I read "dim;" I think "Chantry." I couldn't go to sleep until I wrote this; that's the truth. Don't expect daily updates. You will be disappointed if you do.

**EDIT:** Some of you may notice that the beginning is different. When I wrote "014: Ignore", I realized I had had a lapse of logic. I wanted this one to be very close to the beginning of Act 2 so I swapped Petrice with Elthina and changed the subject from the qunari to the Harimmans. Now things flow much better. I need to make a timeline of all of this.


	3. 003 Futile

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**003: Futile**

He was running through the jungles of Seheron again, his head pounding, his feet bleeding, his hands swatting away insects, when her voice called him back: "So what happened when Danarius found you?"

He looked up from his bare feet, from the tropical undergrowth poking out between his toes, to have himself come back to a room in Kirkwall, a bottle in his hand, and Hawke sitting in front of him, her blonde head backlight by the crackling fire. There was no judgment in her gray eyes, not yet anyway. He was certain that that would change as his story continued and he regretted that change even as he spoke the words that would instigate it.

"What do you think happened?" he asked of her and saw that she was taken aback by the bitter anger in his tone. He began to feel the old vehemence rise in his throat as the memory of Danarius's face came to mind. "He ordered me to kill them. So I did."

He saw in Hawke's face that she had already guessed at the conclusion to this tale. That made him angrier. "What was I supposed to do?" Fenris demanded of her. "Tell me. What would you have done?"

"Ran," she told him flatly.

"I did that."

"Ran before I killed my friends."

"This was a stupid question," he growled. "You can't give me an answer. You've never been a slave."

"But I've been running," she replied coolly. "All of my life, I've been running. I'm an apostate. You act like that doesn't mean anything."

"You could have stopped running." He had not meant to accuse her but that was what it came out as. "Would the Circle truly have been so terrible?"

"You sound almost like Bethany." Hawke turned slightly away from him, resting her elbow against the splintering wooden table, pressing the base of her palm into her temple as though she could push the memory of her younger sister out of her head altogether. Fenris knew how that felt and yet he didn't; his memories were so few that even the worst of them was better than none at all. But he knew the pain well enough.

Her other hand rested limply against her knee. For one wild moment, he thought about reaching over and taking her hand in both of his. It was the sort of gesture that someone like Anders could have made easily. But then she lifted her face from her other hand, turned back toward him, and the moment was lost in the instant.

She fixed her steely gaze on him once more. "But, whatever Bethany may have wanted, she knew that it wasn't a decision for her alone. She had an apostate father and an apostate sister and neither wanted to be subjected to the templars. In my case, I have family to take care of. You were always alone. The only one you had to look out for was you."

He flinched from her unfeeling appraisal of his situation. "Maybe it felt inevitable," he snapped. "Maybe I didn't feel as though I could run."

"Then why did you? Why didn't you just go with Danarius then?"

The jungle floor had been stained crimson. Blood was everywhere, on his blade, on the hair hanging in his eyes, on Danarius's robes. "I looked at their bodies…" _Saw the wounds gaping open and bleeding scarlet._ "I felt…" _Shame. _"I couldn't…" _Do anything. _"I ran. And I didn't look back."

That wasn't true. What was the point of lying to Hawke? He didn't know. But he didn't correct himself. He suddenly felt self-conscious. Except for that one moment, she had not looked away from him, appraising him. He wondered if he was worth anything to her. That thought gave him pause; he wasn't a slave anymore so why was he trying to estimate his value?

She shivered; she saw him notice. "Why do you live here?" she asked. "It's so cold."

"It's winter. It's going to be cold wherever I am."

"It's more than that," she replied, getting up from her seat and walking toward the window. "It's like… this house is cold. There are too many bad memories. No one could be happy living here, least of all you."

"Then what would you have me do?" He did not budge from his seat though part of him wanted to join her at the window. "Go to the alienage with the rest of the elves?" He sighed heavily. "I don't know why I tell you these things."

"Then stop telling me and then saying that talking to me is pointless."

"I have no one else to tell." He looked down at the bottle in his hands. "You and I don't always agree…"

"Never agree–"

"That's not true."

She paused before speaking. "Isn't it?"

She was looking at him again. It was harder to be inscrutable when she stood there, scrutinizing him. "I'm a mage," she said flatly. "Can you see anything but magic in me?"

"Maybe not when we first met," he shrugged. "But I didn't see much of anything in anyone then. I didn't think that I needed anyone. Maybe I don't."

"But maybe you do."

She crossed the room again, came closer but not too close. He preferred it that way and it made him secure enough to admit, "It isn't as though I would know. I've… I've never allowed anyone too close. Who would I trust?"

"Do you trust me?"

"And what if I said that I did, despite everything?"

She hesitated; he saw her hesitate. "Well," she began slowly, diplomatically –she was always diplomatic, except when she was funny and except when she was angry. He had been afraid he would make her angry. "Maybe we could find out. For both of us."

Months later, years later, she would wonder if he had heard those last four words, realized that it had meant as much to her as it had to him. Or had that last plea been completely ignored?

…

**A/N: **Another update, three days in a row. What is this world coming to? If any of you lovely readers have suggestions or maybe something you'd like to see, feel free to mention it in a review. I aim to please. -MB


	4. 004 Erratic

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**004: Erratic**

"You don't have to live there anymore."

Ariadne Hawke knew the moment she said those words that it had been a mistake. Fenris sat up in bed –_her_ bed, which she suspected was part of the issue –and scowled. "And where do you propose I live instead?"

_With me? _She knew that would make things worse. Hawke bit her lip and leaned her bare back against the headboard, clutching the sheet up to her chest. "It's only that Aveline told me… Alright, Aveline didn't tell me anything. That place is falling apart. And… I'm worried about you."

"You're worried about me?" he repeated, scoffing at the thought and getting to his feet.

She let loose a loud, exasperated sigh. "This is stupid. We just… you know and now you're angry with me. I thought we were past this."

"We are past this," he growled. "Just don't tell me where to live."

"I wasn't 'telling' you anything. I was making a statement, an observation, a friendly suggestion that you don't seem to appreciate much. I didn't mean to _offend _you."

He picked up on the edge in her voice. "Well, you did. And I suspect that may have been your intention."

"Sweet Maker, Fenris," she pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and said, "How many lemons did you eat today?"

"Are you trying to tell me that I'm being bitter?"

"Yes."

"That was a stupid line to use."

"Excuse me?"

"Isabela could have come up with much better."

Hawke bit down hard on the corner of her mouth, incensed. "Well, maybe she'd appreciate it more."

"Well, maybe you should ask her to live with you. Just a suggestion."

Her mouth fell slightly open. "I did _not_ ask you to move in with me!"

"You implied it."

"I'm just worried about you being alone in that big empty house–"

"Sweet of you."

"–When Meredith is looking for any reason since I called her out in front of the damned palace to drag me and all of my friends into the Gallows at the next possible opportunity–"

"Then why don't you ask everyone to come live here?"

"I will then!" she snapped, swinging her legs out of bed and getting to her feet, still clutching the sheet. "But I won't ask _you_. Not when you suddenly start yelling at me like this. Now get out of my house!"

"One step ahead of you," Fenris replied heatedly, snatching his pants from the chair in front of the fireplace.

She watched him struggle into them, refusing to budge from where she stood, watching in furious silence as he started from the room with only half of the buckles fastened and his chest plate in hand. Running out onto the balcony, she added, "And your pants are too tight."

Halfway down the stairs, he replied, "You would know. You tried to put them on last night and you couldn't."

"I was drunk!" she shouted after him.

"And I'll be drunk tonight!" he shouted back from the estate's entryway. "But I'll still be able to put them on."

The moment she heard the door slam shut behind him, Hawke sank to the floor and wondered if she had ruined everything. Leaning her head against the balcony's railing, she told herself, _I can be alone again. I can sleep alone. I can watch sunsets on my own. It'll only be another three years or so until he comes around again. That's all._

She made herself get up off of the floor, walk over to her room, and close the door behind her. _Did I mess everything up? Should I go after him? Should I let him stew in his mansion for a couple of hours, days, weeks? How long will it really take? He said he couldn't live without me._

She tipped her head back against the closed door and closed her eyes. _He'll come back. _

It was not until she had gotten dressed and was beginning to answer her mail that she heard the knock on her bedroom door. She considered not answering, just to see what he would do, but figured that he would probably kick the door down and then she would have to pay for it to get fixed. Fenris sometimes forgot that he wasn't in a mansion where everything was already broken. So she put her pen down, got up from the table, and opened the door.

"I…" (She loved it when he was at a loss for words but she wouldn't admit it to him ever.) "I walked to the Chantry and back. Twice."

She scratched her ear, apparently unconcerned. "Did you?"

"Yes," he drew the word out, his eyes darting to stare at the fireplace as he spoke. "As I've said before, you're not responsible for my deficiencies. I appreciate what you were trying to do –to say, earlier. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. Can you forgive me?"

She tried (unsuccessfully) to keep the grin from spreading across her face. "Oh, I don't know," she said in response with a nonchalant shrug. "This could be fun to hold over you for a while? A good _long_ while."

The corners of his mouth quirked upward in a smile. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," she answered and then wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers between strands of his hair. "Yeah," she said again as he kissed her softly, sweetly. Hawke pulled him closer and then broke the kiss off. She sighed. "Now we have to get the pants off again."

…

**A/N: **If you look at my other writing for Halo and Mass Effect, you'll see that I don't get to write very sweet things very often. So when **NoMadKa** asked for arguing and then making up post Act 3 reconciliation, I was very pleased to see that the next word on my prompts list was "erratic". I hope I did the request justice.


	5. 005 Loved

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**005: Loved**

The bad poet was on a roll. Isabela was beginning to think she might have to abandon the Hanged Man altogether –at least for the night –when she spotted Hawke lurking at an otherwise empty table in the corner, cradling in one hand a cup of ale that looked as though it hadn't been touched all night. Taking her leave of her misguided suitor, she meandered amongst the tables and standing patrons until she was at her friend's side, greeting Hawke with, "When I was younger, I wanted hair just like yours. Then I realized that that old saying is a lie. Brunettes can have just as much fun, if they know the right ways of going about it."

Hawke didn't smile. "Mother used to say that I favored her side of the family. 'The Amell beauty,' Carver used to call it when he was angry with me. He always made fun of my hair."

"Now why would he do that?" Isabela raised an eyebrow.

"Because I suspect that Mother liked that I looked like my grandmother," she explained idly, staring into her mug. "And Bethany was always Father's baby. And then there was Carver, caught between two mages, two favorites, and with nowhere to go."

"Well, you can't really blame him about being bitter. The only one he looks something like is Gamlen," replied Isabela with a shrug. "But beauty is beauty and one would think you've got enough of it to keep you happy."

She still didn't smile. "Is this your way of asking me why I'm sulking in the corner?"

"It's not 'sulking' exactly," replied Isabela, considering. "And it's not moping either. Oh, I know. You're _brooding_. In fact," she continued, tapping her index finger against her lower lip in thought, "you're brooding enough for Fenris and you put together. And, speaking of you and Fenris …"

"Don't." Hawke leaned forward until her forehead was pressed to the tabletop. "Not tonight, Isabela. Not after…" She grimaced against the wood, her eyes shut tight. "Please."

"Oh." Isabela stopped, stunned. "Oh. Oh, no, sweet thing." She swung her long legs over the bench and sat herself down beside her friend, patting Hawke on the shoulder. "Tell Isabela all about it. What has he done now?"

Hawke lifted her head from the table and shrugged, addressing the wall as she spoke because that was easier; Isabela knew the feeling. "It's not about what he did; it's about what we did," she answered. "And it's about me being stupid and expecting too much. Yes, it's about me being stupid."

"Wait a second, Hawke; let's get the facts straight before we start throwing blame around here, hey?" Isabela interjected quickly. "What's going on?"

"What's going on is…" Eyes half closed, she waved a hand helplessly through the air above the table and then pushed her fingers through her blonde hair. "What's going on is that Fenris and I…" She waved her hand about again and then, certain Isabela had gotten the message, continued, "And then he left."

There were rare moments when Isabela found she had nothing to say immediately and then this was one of them. And then, flatly: "Ass."

"Yeah." Hawke jerked her mug across the table toward her, apparently not caring about the amber liquid sloshing onto her fingers. She pulled the cup toward her but did not drink: a gesture that Isabela found absolutely pointless.

"Why?"

"He said that it made his memories come back," she shrugged. "He said it was all happening too fast for him."

"But why did you do it, Hawke?" Isabela wanted to know. "I mean, the sex must have been great but still… We all know how he acts."

"I don't know." She cradled her forehead in the curve between her thumb and index finger. "Maybe… maybe I thought it would make me feel… loved?"

Isabela snorted. "You should have gone to Anders if you wanted love. I'm sure he overuses that stupid word."

"Maybe I thought it would mean more with Fenris. Maybe I thought I could show him that not all mages are bad…"

"Hawke!" said Isabela sharply in objection. "You should know better. Never mix politics with sex! Just admit you wanted the man and be done with it."

"And what if I did?" Hawke snapped.

"I never said there was anything wrong with that," Isabela chuckled in response, swiping away Hawke's untouched drink for herself. "So I take it he won't be coming back."

"No."

"You'd think he'd want his memories back," she smirked before downing half of the cup's contents in one gulp. "Do you want him to come back?"

"Part of me wonders if I'm being even stupider worrying about my personal life while all goes to hell with the Qunari," said Hawke by way of reply. "If the blasted Arishok decides to slice off my head with that big sword of his because his Qun demands it, Fenris will be the last of my worries."

"That's beside the point, Hawke, and you're not nearly drunk enough to start rambling about nonsense." Isabela downed the rest of her purloined drink. "Do you want the man back or not? You have other options."

"What would you recommend?" Hawke asked her tonelessly, tracing the furrows in the table's wood with her index finger.

"You're a smart girl. Go home, get a good night's sleep, and think about it. But if you don't want Fenris, I'll have to start working on him for myself. 'Love' doesn't have to enter the equation for me."

"Do you threaten to steal everyone's lovers?"

"Some lovers you and Fenris are," Isabela snorted again in exasperation. "What, do you want me to tell you you're special?"

"Aveline, Isabela."

"Ah," she smiled at the not too distant memory. "Well, there was that."

"What am I supposed to do, Isabela?" Hawke finally dragged her gaze away from the table and focused on her friend. "I don't know why I started this with him. Maybe I shouldn't have. But I can't stop thinking about it. I've never had someone walk out on me like that. I thought he might've needed me," she continued, ignoring Isabela's snort of disbelief. "I thought that if he needed something it might as well be me."

"Hawke," Isabela smiled sympathetically. "You have a lot to learn, my dear."

"Apparently," Hawke smiled that bitter smile, a smile she would probably wear often going forward. "Look, all I know is that I wish… that I wanted to see if maybe we could have been something. And maybe we can't. Maybe I was stupid to think that we could. But it's alright. I can be alone."

"That's my girl." Her sympathetic smile suddenly turned wicked. "And, if you're ever lonely, I'm sure that elf with the blue eyes is still around at the Rose."

"Isabela!"

"What?"

…

**A/N: **Another update! I feel like I'm writing the Dragon Age version of "500 Days of Summer". Reviews are very encouraged! I love feedback.


	6. 006 Guilt

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**006: Guilt**

A Lowtown whore around the corner from Gamlen's miserable hovel was peddling her wares. Loudly. Perched on the steps up to the shack's door, Ariadne Hawke balled her hands into fists, pressed them to her ears, and yelled, "Shut up!"

There was a moment's silence in response and then the lady rounded the corner, scowling. With her hands on her hips, she planted her feet squarely at the bottom of the steps and called up to Hawke, "What, you think you're too good to have to hear a woman making a living now that your little expedition's come through for you?" Hawke was quiet, pressed her hand against her mouth and turned her eyes toward the wall. "Huh?"

"I didn't say anything," Hawke muttered into her palm.

"Where's your brother?" the woman stood on her tiptoes, peering over Hawke's head as though expecting to see Carver in the shadow of the doorway. "Has he gotten over his infatuation with that Hightown tart yet?" Hawke didn't say anything. The woman smirked. "He was never so unsympathetic to my profession."

"He's not here!" she suddenly snapped, raising her head, her eyes glaring gray daggers at the prostitute. "He's not here, all right? And, unless you want to be chatting up the guard, I suggest you take your leave!"

"Well, where'd he go then?" the woman didn't move an inch.

Her frustration building, Hawke braced one elbow against her knee and pressed the base of her palm into her forehead. "He is a templar recruit now," she declared, her voice rough. "If it so pleases you," she flung one arm out in the direction of the alley, "do go to the Gallows and see if you can find him. Be sure and tell him that his mother is sick in bed from that little display of his manly pride."

The woman glanced in one direction and then the other before looking back to Hawke with a look of dislike. "This street don't get enough traffic for me to be bothered with this tomfoolery. Tell your uncle that Belle won't come calling this way again anytime soon. Though, truth be told, I haven't seen head nor tail of him since your family came along."

"And good riddance!" Hawke called after the whore's retreating back. She sighed with satisfaction; the darkness was finally quiet again. Even her dog had stopped barking; everyone said Mabari were smart but keeping quiet now took some intuition, intuition that Hawke, sadly, had not been blessed with.

_I should never have shown him those letters, _she thought to herself. _I should have let him come with me down into the Deep Roads instead of brushing him off just because Mother told me to. He should have known that doing this would kill Mother. She never liked us fighting; now this is like a declaration of war. I never should have–_

"Hawke?"

She didn't look up at the sound of her name, merely stared at the feet of the person who had addressed her. "You know," she began in a pragmatic sort of voice, "you really ought to wear shoes."

"Is something wrong?" Fenris wanted to know, confusion creasing his forehead. "Is your mother alright? Carver? I can't imagine you would worry over your uncle."

"Carver is in perfect health," she looked up at the mention of her brother, her eyes unusually wide and her smile equal parts bland and false.

"That is… good to hear. Varric is gathering the crowd." He jerked his head in the general direction of the Hanged Man. "Apparently, he wishes all to learn of the rock wraith we encountered on our little venture. You are probably sick of hearing about it but I could do with a drink and perhaps you or your brother…"

"Carver," she interrupted, stressing the name, "will probably not be coming to the Hanged Man for some time now."

The barely perceptible slump of Fenris's shoulders told her that he was willing to bite. "And why is that?"

"My brother wanted a career change," Hawke replied with another deceivingly bright smile, "so he has decided that he wants to be a templar. I walked in as he was taking his leave of our mother this afternoon."

"But," Fenris stood very still as he processed this new information, "your father was… and your sister was and you are…"

"You can't be too surprised," she said with a bitter smile. "He didn't really understand magic or mages even though he knew so much about both. I suppose that means he'll make a pretty decent templar."

"Perhaps," said Fenris noncommittally. "Perhaps you should be speaking to Varric of this."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her slightly overlong bangs. "I don't want to _kill _Carver," she replied incredulously. "Varric wants to kill Bartrand."

"As do I. Although I think it more poetic if the dwarf does the actual deed." He paused and then asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"What do you mean?" Hawke looked up from her hands again.

He raised his arms and shrugged. "I have no family," Fenris replied flatly. "What wisdom do you think you'll get out of me?"

Her mouth dropped slightly open. "Get out of you?" she repeated incredulously. "Whatever do you mean by that? You were here. I needed someone to talk to, someone who is not mother or uncle or dog, someone who can talk back, offer sympathy. Though," she raised her chin, suddenly haughty, "it's true you would not have been my first choice for a kind word."

Quickly, she got to her feet and brushed the dirt from her tunic. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my mother is not well."

Hawke's hand was already on the door when she heard him call out for her to wait. Slowly, she turned around to see him looking at his feet. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You looked to me for comfort and I gave you nothing. It wasn't my intention to hurt you."

"That's a little hard to believe," she said in return, "considering."

Fenris bowed his head in acknowledgement and did say anything else. After a moment, Hawke turned her face from him and went inside. She brushed past Gamlen, ignored Dancer's whines, and went straight to her mother in the backroom. Tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she said, "I'm here, Mother."

Leandra Amell's gray eyes –so similar to her daughter's –were shut, her head lulled back against the back of her chair. "Who was that you were talking to, Ariadne?"

"It was only Fenris, Mother. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Some water maybe," Hawke nodded and turned to the door to fetch a cup. Her mother's next comment stopped her in her tracks. "Carver didn't seem to like this Fenris. He said that he didn't like the way the elf spoke to you."

"Carver didn't like any of my friends, Mother. But Fenris…" Hawke paused, picking at her fingernails as she thought. "Fenris doesn't understand many things and it isn't really his fault."

Leandra smiled weakly. "That's charitable of you, my dear."

"What can I say?" Hawke flashed that signature, sardonic smile. "I'm a sucker for lost causes."

…

**A/N: **Really, don't get used to so many updates! My life's just been weird lately and I suddenly have a lot of time on my hands. But I'm pretty pleased with this little piece. Please read and review!


	7. 007 Hold

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**007: Hold**

The moment Hawke turned away from the Arishok's steady gaze to gather her weapons and speak to her companions, Anders swooped down on her, saying, "Have you gone mad?" he demanded of her. "You're going to duel the Arishok in single combat? Just because Fenris seems to think it's a good idea…"

"I'm not doing this because Fenris suggested it," replied Hawke tartly as she yanked her outer robe over her head, revealing the lighter, more flexible chainmail underneath. She tossed the heavy material aside into Aveline's waiting hands, adding, "I'm doing this because it's the only way to keep the Qunari from slaughtering everyone in the building and keep Isabela with us."

"And Isabela had better be grateful for that," muttered Anders, glancing over his shoulder at where Isabela stood, cornered by Qunari soldiers.

"I would not have suggested it if I did not think Hawke could win," Fenris countered, glaring at the mage. "Believe it or not, I don't want her to die."

"Forgive me if I don't," said Anders in return. "We mages aren't really built for combat in close quarters. Those huge blades tend to go right through our robes and pierce our internal organs."

"I'm sure that's exactly what Hawke wants to hear right now–"

"What Hawke doesn't want to hear is any more arguing," she spoke up quickly, interrupting Fenris and not caring one bit. "Now, if the two of you are quite done, does anyone have any advice on getting out of this alive?"

"The Arishok thinks you will be an easy kill," Fenris spoke up first. "He would not have given you this time to prepare if he thought otherwise."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better," Hawke muttered in return as she buckled her sheathed knife around her upper arm.

"It means that he underestimates what you are capable of," the elf told her. "That is his mistake and a mistake that we will not correct until he lies dead before you."

"You've fought plenty of qunari before," said Anders when she looked to him. "I'm sure you've noticed that they don't do very well in the cold."

Hawke didn't crack a smile. "Right," she said very seriously. "Ice is my friend." _Did Father say something like that to me before? I can't remember. Maybe I'll be able to ask him in a bit._

"The Arishok has a large blade and he must know how to use it," Aveline said to Hawke as the guard captain handed her friend a leather cord for her hair. "Keep out of his range otherwise you'll be in trouble. And no one here wants to see that happen to you."

"Why did I agree to this?" Hawke wanted to know as she pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail. "No one does duels anymore except for Orlesian fops."

"And Isabela," Anders pointed out.

"How fitting," said Aveline dryly in response.

"What advantage do you have over the Arishok?" Fenris asked.

Hawke scowled. "Is that a rhetorical question?" _Probably should have been._

"If you think so, you are already lost."

"I have my magic," she answered with a slight sigh of exasperation. "And… I can run fast. I bet he can't do that so well when he's lugging that sword around."

"Good. Use that."

She glanced toward the improvised arena, noting the twin pillars and imagining looping figure-eights while the formidable Arishok spun about in the middle, trying to catch her an inopportune moment. "I'll look like a fool."

"Better a live fool than a dead one."

Her lips curved into an unwilling smile. "Good point."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked Anders quickly as the Arishok began to look over his shoulder at Hawke and her companions expectantly.

"I don't think so. Not unless you can discreetly mutter healing spells under your breath."

"Not a bad idea," said Aveline ironically. "But it's cheating of a sort and I wouldn't put it past the qunari to use it as an excuse to grab Isabela and kill the lot of us."

"No cheating then," said Hawke decisively.

"Right." There was a subtle tremor in Aveline's tone that betrayed her true anxiety. "Well… I'm going to go and see if I can't get a look out of a window, see how close Orsino and Meredith might've gotten."

"You do that." _Maybe I'll only have to stay alive until they get here._

Fenris seemed to be looking at something over her left shoulder as Aveline left their side. "Are you alright, Hawke?"

"Do you need something more?" Anders asked but he wasn't looking at her at all.

"I don't know," she answered, staring at the holes in her gloves. Her thumbs always felt so cold when she wore fingerless gloves. _What do I need? What do I want? I want someone to hold my hand before I go through this; tell me that they won't be able to live if I die. My mother is dead; who will do that for me now? And neither Anders nor Fenris really look at me anymore._

They weren't looking at her and yet they were. They stared through her as though she were a clear pane of Orlesian glass and all that mattered was what was on the other side. And both of them did this. And Ariadne Hawke knew why and hated herself for it.

"Serah Hawke," the Arishok called out to her from across the room. "We cannot delay any longer. Come forward and meet my blade."

She nodded and took a step forward. Glancing over her shoulder back at her companions, she thought for a moment that a look of panic might have crossed Fenris's face. The skin around her eyes crinkled as she contemplated this. Anders was studying the tiling on the floor. She looked away, disappointed. Why had she ruined her relationship with every man who might have loved her?

…

**A/N: **Not too much Fenris/Hawke interaction in this one but I liked the idea of expanding the moments before the final battle with the Arishok. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it!


	8. 008 Shackles

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**008: Shackles**

_I think I'm going to vomit, _said the look on Saemus Dumar's face but his noble betrothed was smiling widely enough for the both of them. Ariadne Hawke clapped with the rest of the crowd but was careful to hide her smirk behind a smile. It had been almost a year and a half since she had first met the viscount's son and it seemed that Saemus was still just as blind to his power of political implication as he had been then.

"Poor boy," she said in an aside to Sebastian Vael who happened to be standing beside her in the crowd. "His father would have done better to let him wait."

"He does look less than pleased," Sebastian said diplomatically but with a grin.

"'Less than pleased?' He'll be chained to noble society for the rest of his soon to be miserable life and he knows it," replied Hawke, laughing. "No more long walks along the Wounded Coast with the qunari."

"Do you know the viscount's son then?"

"Not well," she replied, continuing to clap as the couple began to walk down the stairs. "I was… involved with a mess of a rescue a year or so back."

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. "You are a… formidable woman, Mistress Hawke," he said admiringly. "But you must know that there is no respite from duty. We are who we are born to be."

"I… have difficulty believing that sometimes."

"It is good that you try," he said in response with another approving smile. "It is the Maker's will after all that had brought you to wherever you are now."

Something caught in Hawke's throat. She forced herself to smile back at Sebastian, said, "If you'll excuse me," and, gathering her skirts in one hand, quickly disappeared from the keep's main hall. She needed to be alone, to find a quiet place where she could gather her thoughts uninterrupted.

She turned her attention to the courtyard, the space between the keep and the steps that led downward toward the greater Hightown pavilions. The night was warm for autumn and summer's humidity had ebbed away weeks before. And if someone wanted to give her trouble… well, an apostate in a dress and slightly higher than average heels was still an apostate capable of defending herself. She perched herself on the edge of a secluded bench and took a deep breath.

_Magic is meant to serve man and not rule over him. _Those words had taken precedence over all other Chantry teachings in Ariadne Hawke's life. Even her father had quoted them angrily at her when she had accidentally set the cottage's roof ablaze. They had defined every aspect of her life, to the point where she would have given up all magic altogether to avoid having to hear that sentence one more time. But what Sebastian had said… that it was the Maker's will that had visited this sometime curse, sometime blessing on her and taken away her father, sister, and home in turn, that was enough to keep her from ever going to the Chantry again.

"Hawke," Fenris's footsteps stalled until he was standing in front of her. "What are you doing?"

One hand idly tangled in her hair, she looked up at him with one eyebrow raised and said, "I'm sitting."

"You are as inscrutable as a qunari," was his equally dry reply. He took a step back and took in her entire appearance. "You're… wearing a dress. You look…"

"I think I look like an Antivan orange," she cut him off, keeping her tone light, "but, yes, I was at Saemus Dumar's engagement party."

"That explains much," Fenris replied, his voice surprisingly grave. "May I join you?" She nodded. He sat down beside her. "Might I ask why you left?"

"Someone… said something I didn't like."

"You're not made of glass."

"I know," said Hawke irritably in return. She paused, gathered her thoughts. "Do you think the Maker helped you escape Danarius?"

Fenris tensed at the question. "Why?"

"I was just wondering," she shrugged. "Someone told me that everything that happens to us is divine providence."

"I don't believe that," he answered, his voice very hard. "I freed myself. I made my own providence." Then, after a moment's pause: "If there is a Maker, he can't like me very much. He can't like many elves. Otherwise, why would he have allowed Tevinter to continue to exist as it has?"

"It is said sometimes that the less the Maker does, the greater his power."

"I don't believe that either," said Fenris grimly. "Do you?"

Hawke stared at her hands in her lap, one palm laid atop the other. "I don't know what to believe. If the Maker has any power over what I am," she allowed the smallest of flames to flicker in the cradle of her open palm, "why did he give me this?"

"Why did he let this happen to me?" He stretched out his arm so that the markings on his hands were level with the flame. The white lines seemed to glow with a different light. "They are my prison and yet they allowed me to make myself free. One prison for another."

"It isn't so different with magic," said Hawke slowly, the firelight reflected in her gray eyes. "It could give me anything and yet it seems to keep me from everything I want."

The corner of Fenris's mouth twitched upward in a sardonic smile. "Neither of us wears shackles –not anymore –but we're far from free."

She shrugged and her hand closed on the flame, extinguishing it. "That's hardly anything new. Maker knows there are shackles everywhere," she said bitterly, "and, if you're not wearing them, they're all over the floor, just waiting for you to trip."

"Just waiting for you to screw up," he agreed. His green eyes glanced downward, at her orange silk covered knee, at the smoke trailing up from between clenched fingers. "You…" he hesitated, his eyes drawn back to her face. "You don't look like an orange."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Fenris."

"Be honored. It's probably the nicest thing I have ever said to any mage."

Hawke laughed a little at that when she saw that Fenris was smiling. "I should probably go back," she said, getting up and gathering her skirts in one hand. "They're probably dancing by now and I promised Sebastian…"

He got up too. She thought she saw something flicker across his features as he took the smallest step back, already distancing himself from her. "You probably should."

She started up the stairs but, halfway to the door, she looked back. "Thank you," she said, a little awkward. "Thank you for listening."

Fenris nodded, leaning his torso forward in the slightest of courtly bows. "You…" She raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. "You really don't look like an orange. You look like… fire. And light."

"Well," said Hawke with a smile, pleased despite herself, "let's hope that no one in there gets burned." And then she went back inside, returning to a world that she knew he could not follow her into. Maybe there she could feel less vulnerable.

…

**A/N: **My new favorite XD. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it!


	9. 009 Precious

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**009: Precious**

Hawke's eyes opened to a view of the floor and the warmth of a blanket. It was still the dark of night; the candles flickering in the ruined mansion's shadowy corners attested to that. And there was Fenris, sitting beside her, the dim lighting reflecting off of his silvery markings. She allowed her eyes to trace the curve of his back, the line of his shoulders and then, sleepily, dreamily, she asked, "Why are we on the floor?"

His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "The bed wasn't close enough."

She sat up and glanced over her shoulder, noting with an amused smile that the bed in question was not ten feet away. She didn't mind much. "Can we relocate?" she asked with a yawn. "Something about that deep roads expedition put me off sleeping on the floor for a long while."

"Of course," Fenris replied. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

There was nothing in the words; there was something in them. Hawke did not call him out on it, not yet; she merely gathered the wool blanket about her shoulders and shuffled her bare feet across the cold tiles toward the bed. She did not lie down but instead leaned back against the wall, saying, "You've been awake for a while."

His eyes shifted away from her open gaze. "I could not sleep. I… had a bad dream."

"Tell me about it." She shifted over to make room for him to sit beside her. He hesitated, considering, and then decided to sit down on the edge of the bed instead. Hawke made no comment, only said, "What was your dream about? Did you… remember something from your past?"

"I almost wish that was the case." Fenris's mouth twisted into a grim smile, his voice full of dark humor.

Hawke took a moment to study him, the blank expression on his face, the artless and inscrutable grace of his posture, and wondered how best to go about this. "Maybe… I can tell you what I dreamed of. Maybe that might make things easier."

"If you think it will," he shrugged, apparently uncaring though the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.

She leaned back, drawing her knees up to her chest. The truth was that she _hadn't _dreamt of anything in particular. The dreams of mages were always full of either clarity or confusion; this night had been a case of the latter. Not for the first time, she envied Varric's talent for spinning stories.

"I dreamed I was… wherever we were before Lothering," she said abruptly and then checked herself. She had not intended to speak of that but what she started, she should finish. "We had a couple of close calls with the templars, especially after the twins were born. But sometimes the templars were never called in. Sometimes the villagers decided to take matters into their own hands. Someone had seen Bethany freezing the stream over; someone else's baby had been born dead. It didn't take long for them to 'put two and two together.'"

She pushed her hair back and away from her face, paused for a moment in her tale when she saw that Fenris had turned and his eyes were intent on her face. "They came with fire. They were going burn down our house. We ran out the back, into the woods. They never found any bodies, or so a friend told us later. The funny thing is that they called my mother the witch. They didn't go after my father. They didn't go after my father at all."

"You dreamt of that night," said Fenris slowly.

"I dreamt of running and the forest and fire and smoke." She looked down at her clasped hands. "There was so much smoke. It had rained the night before; everything burned slowly. Do you think those villagers knew that they were burning down an entire life? Everything of value to us was in that house and all of it burned: my father's staff, my mother's jewelry, Bethany's dolls…" She shook her head. "But, yes, that is what I dreamt of. What about you?"

He took a deep breath. "Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better," he admitted. "But I will tell you, if you so wish it."

Hawke did her best to ignore the apprehension welling in her chest. "I do."

"I dreamed that I killed you."

The story of the Fog Warriors came instantly to mind. But Danarius was dead now. Surely… "When? How?"

"Three years ago," Fenris recalled it to mind with the swiftness of someone who had been thinking of little else. "We were in the Fade. There was that demon again. I reached into your chest and I killed you."

She flinched; he noticed but did not say anything, only looked at her, his eyes pleading. "We killed the demon, Fenris," Hawke said carefully, trying to sound reassuring even though she was chilled at heart. "It has no foothold in the mortal world, not anymore."

"But the Fade is not the mortal world," he replied stubbornly, "and it is to the Fade that we go when we dream. And it is in the Fade that the demons reside."

"I don't understand," Hawke said, shaking her head. "Are you trying to ask if you are possessed?"

"I would not know it if I were, unless I were as foolish as some mages we know and had invited a demon into my soul."

"But you haven't."

"But I very nearly did, if you recall," he countered curtly. "'What must I do?' I said to the demon. And then I attacked you. And in this dream I did the same… only this time I killed you. I reached into your chest and I pulled out your heart." He leaned forward, cradled his forehead in one hand. "The look on your face… You looked so surprised. It was as though you didn't understand, as though you had thought we were sparring or something. You barely fought me. I don't understand."

"It was only a dream, Fenris." She reached out to him but was uncertain of where to place her hand. She did not know how to comfort him and that revelation made her hesitate. "It doesn't mean anything."

"But what if it does?" He got up from the bed, crossed the room toward the fire. "There is so much about magic and demons and spirits that I don't understand and that _you _don't understand either, Hawke."

"It doesn't mean anything," she repeated firmly. "I dreamt of the cottage burning because it's a painful memory. Do you mean to say that you don't ever have dreams about Danarius, about being a slave?"

"That was different," Fenris growled, half-turning to look back at her as she sat in his bed. "All of that happened in the real world; there were no tricks or illusions involved. But having a dream about a something that happened in the Fade –which is where you go when you dream –is…" His shoulders slumped. "It is confusing. And I am ashamed of what happened with that demon those years ago."

"If it makes you feel any better," said Hawke with a slightly forced laugh, "Isabela did basically the same thing and that was _after_ seeing what happened to you."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Hawke," he sighed, still staring into the fire. "You… mean a great deal to me, more than I could have predicted. The thought of turning on you like that…"

"Then don't think about it." Quickly, she gathered the blanket around her again and followed him across the room, her bare feet padding lightly against the floor. "Come back to bed."

"Ignoring a problem will not make it go away."

"We're not ignoring it." Tentatively, she reached for his hand. He let her take it. "You mean a lot to me too," Hawke told him, her gray eyes steady on his face. "You were a different person three years ago. So was I. I trust that you won't make that same mistake again."

He did not pull away, even though his green eyes seemed sad. "You trust too easily."

"Don't prove me wrong," Hawke replied before slowly leading him back to the bed.


	10. 010 Broken

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**010: Broken**

"_What a curious lad. The chains are broken but are you truly free?"_

"_You see much."_

Yes, the witch had seen much and her words continued to gnaw away at the corners of Fenris's mind. Yes, he was free but still Fenris continued to think on Danarius constantly, worrying about hunters and wondering when the magister would come after him personally or if he would even do so much. Maybe Danarius did not feel the need to bestir himself from his palace in Minrathous. It did not require the power of a great magister to retrieve a corpse and yet Danarius must be aware that Fenris had dispatched all of his hunters with brutal efficiency. So why send more? Did Danarius know of Fenris's doubts, expect his former slave to come back to Tevinter for his revenge? Was all of this merely more bait except of a different and more insidious intent?

Many times Fenris tried to put these thoughts from his mind and, when sheer willpower was not enough, strong drink made up the difference. He did not like to think of Danarius; it was too reminiscent of the attitude of a slave, to put all thoughts aside save those pertaining to his master. Often, there was enough going on in the present to keep his thoughts from lingering on the past but sometimes it was more difficult. On nights like these, when there was no sound but the pounding of rain on the abandoned mansion's rooftop, he succumbed to weakness and raided the wine cellar.

Think of Hawke instead. If he wished to keep his mind from his old master, think of Ariadne Hawke whom he had met less than a fortnight ago. The Fereldan apostate with the Tevinter name; had there ever been a better study in contrasts? He felt his lips curl again at the memory of the place he despised more than any other. But she could not be blamed for it any more than she could not be blamed for being born with magic. And he should know better than anyone that one cannot chose one's name.

She had agreed to help him after little thought on the matter, considering that he had been asking her to help him in an assault on a powerful mage's mansion. Granted, she had not yet known of Fenris's feelings on mages… and he had not known that she was one. Might that have changed matters? Perhaps.

And then when all was said and done and Danarius turned out to be gone, she had followed him back into the house, split a bottle of vintage, and laughed at him. The glass fragments of the shattered Aggregio were still lying beside the wall; he should probably pick the shards up before the entire floor became permanently sticky with spilled wine. Or maybe he could leave it for now; think some more instead.

She had laughed at him and then she had made him laugh with her. What did that mean? Maker knew he did not smile very often let alone laugh. How did she do that? And he had called her… "capable." And she had called him "handsome." Had she called him handsome? Why would she do that? Had she been laughing at him again? He couldn't blame her for it.

The wind was howling outside; the rain coming down in buckets. Fenris wondered how the ships in Kirkwall's harbor were faring. He wondered what Hawke was doing, if any of the various jobs she had taken on could be completed in the rain. Why was he wondering about that? He was indebted to her; nothing more. He wondered if the streets ever flooded over in Lowtown. Why did he care? Debt meant a great deal of things but it did not necessarily mean that he should worry over her. Was that what he was doing? Worrying? Fenris did not like the sound of the word.

The noise of a fist pounding emanated from the front door. Fenris had been sitting on the grand staircase, nursing a second bottle of Aggregio. Curious, he went down the steps to answer and was greeted first by a face full of rain and then– "Hawke. What are you doing here?"

"It's raining," she replied, stating the obvious as her particular brand of humor often went. "We were at the Chantry. Can we come in?"

She was not alone; accompanying her was her brother, the dwarf he knew as Varric, and a man whose face he did not know at all. Fenris took a closer look at them all. "Is that…"

Blood, smeared across her nose and all down the front of the unknown man's coat, not quite washed away by the rain. "Never mind," Fenris cut himself off and stepped to the side to allow them all to pass.

"Thank you," said Hawke and then she led the way to an adjoining room that had once been a library where she took a seat beside an empty fireplace. Carver, Varric, and the man joined her; Fenris lingered by the doorway, unsure of what to do now that he had offered his residence as sanctuary against the elements.

He was mostly ignored. For all that he had been thinking of her, Hawke seemed to have thought little of him. Laying her cloak out to dry beside a nonexistent fire, she spoke in a quiet and urgent voice: "Do you think the templars will be after us?"

"Doubtless they will be now," answered Carver crossly. "Why did we agree to get involved in this again?"

"Do you want your deep roads expedition or not?" his sister replied coolly. Carver was silent.

"If it's any comfort, they've been hunting me for years," offered the man Fenris didn't know. "But then I thought I already knew what the templars were capable of. I never would have imagined…" His voice faltered. Instead of finishing his thought, he lifted a hand and lit the slightly damp fireplace.

So this was another mage then and apparently arrogant, reckless, and already putting them all at risk. And Hawke had taken him into Fenris's mansion. Was she trying to provoke him?

"Back at the Chantry…" the new mage continued, staring into the fire. "You should understand what happened there. What I did."

"Let me guess," replied Carver. "This is the part where you tell us you're an abomination?"

The mage was quiet. He said nothing to contradict Hawke's brother, not at first. Fenris felt his fists tighten. No. it seemed he would never be truly free.

…

**A/N: **I loved getting into Fenris's mind with this piece and I hope you all enjoyed it. I always pictured Hawke and Company using Fenris's mansion as a kind of safe house, particularly during Act 1. Please review if you enjoyed it!


	11. 011 Desire

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**011: Desire**

"What do you want, Hawke?"

"I want you to stop calling me that." _You to think of me as something other than a mage because if someone like you thinks I am something other than a mage than I might as well be and that would be such a relief. _Honesty caught in her throat and in her mind when she saw his smile. _You._

…

"What do you want, Fenris?"

"I want you to understand." _Proof that mages can be better than I have seen, make the necessary choices even when it is not in their immediate interests, so that I can believe that a second Tevinter can be prevented from within. _His voice stuck at the sound of hers._ You. What else?_

…

He was sitting on the bench in her foyer; what did that mean? She paused in the doorway. He hadn't seen her yet but he would in a moment. She waited the moment out, not wanting to make things go any faster. She wasn't frightened; maybe she was. Maybe she was frightened that the mere sight of him made her very heartbeat catch in her throat and she had to remind herself to breathe. But he was there, tangible, and had therefore already defied her expectations. And then he looked up at her and the expression on his face made her feel as though every inch of her –her wrists, her cheekbones, the backs of her knees –was filled with light.

"I have been thinking of you," he said as he stood and crossed the space between them.

_What about me? _She wanted to ask. _Did you think of the way I smiled? The way I laugh? Did you remember the way I reached out to you in the slaver caves? Or did you remember the way you brushed me aside and told me that magic tainted everything? Did you think of me as a mage and therefore think of Hadriana? Or do you separate me from the magic? Can you even do that? Could I separate you from the markings if I hated the power they gave you?_

"In fact, I have been able to think of little else," he continued and the words boiling in her mind were lost somewhere in the silence between her thoughts and her spoken words. He was looking at her, his eyes dark with desire, and there was that sense of light bubbling somewhere between her ribs. She knew that was a conversation she could not have tonight.

"Command me to go and I shall."

She could tell him to go. He had said she could; he would not force this if it was not something she wanted. What did she want? That was another question she did not want the answer to tonight. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, tasted blood… She was instantly reminded of that witch in the Blooming Rose: _blood and desire in equal parts. _Was desire like blood magic, something that grabbed hold of your thoughts and refused to cede control? She didn't want him to go.

"Did I say anything?" she asked him and felt her own eyes darken at the sound of words. If this was as dangerous as blood magic, she did not care. In response, his mouth came crashing down on hers and she felt herself fling her arms about his shoulders. He pushed her back against the wall; she did not object, only kissed him harder. In his touch, she had found the oblivion required to let her forget she had magic. And, somehow, she knew that he had stopped thinking of her as a mage the moment he took her into his arms.

She was able to lose herself that night. She would have done anything to make him stay. But desire proves to be selfish and he apparently had wanted something else. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be the gift that someone did not want and yet had to smile over and say "Thank you" all the same.

…

**A/N: **Okay, I need feedback on this chapter. I was trying to communicate something very specific and I need to know if I was successful. So please review. What did you take away from this piece? Thanks! -MB


	12. 012 Coffee

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**A/N: **There was no coffee in medieval Europe so it stands to reason that there would be no coffee in Thedas. Nevertheless, that was the prompt. Coffee supposedly helps you sober up in short period of time but it doesn't really work very well. With that in mind, I started thinking about the little things that should sober us up and yet they don't. And then I wrote this. I hope you enjoy it!

**012: Coffee**

Maybe that spirit living in Anders's head was on to something: Mages should _never_ be allowed to get drunk. If this was what happened to someone like Hawke, Fenris shuddered to think of what would happen should someone like Anders partake of too much of the Hanged Man's "finest."

"That's it," said Isabela decisively. "Hawke is officially sloshed."

Ariadne Hawke, daring Deep Roads explorer and model for apostates everywhere, jerked a single finger at Isabela's nose, a gesture that ended up being aimlessly directed at the empty space above Fenris's right shoulder. "Says you!" the mage accused with a delighted cackle. "And _Maker_ knows and _I_ know and _he_," out went her left hand to nearly slap Varric in the forehead, "knows that _you_ would know."

She had such a stupid grin on her face; Fenris almost begrudged her alcohol-induced mirth. Why was it that his drinking bouts made him bitter and angry when in others that same wine would induce gleeful ignorance? Though, judging by the way her dilated pupils roamed around the room, never settling on one object for very long, Fenris was quite certain that Hawke would find herself passed out before too long. To have one's faced pressed against on the Hanged Man's filthy wooden floor… he winced. That was a fate he would not wish on his worst enemy. Though perhaps Hadriana…

The sound of her voice called him back from his past as it often seemed to, slurred words and all: "It's Varric's fault," she mumbled, aimlessly waving her hand about, "and yours. You said… you said I was no fun. That I was as bad as Aveline. Well, where is Aveline now? She's not here. I'm here. I'm fun."

Good question: where was Aveline or, more to the point, someone who was willing to step up to the plate and be sensible? The hapless grin on Varric's face told the world that he was far from being sober enough to bear any responsibility over this situation. Was Fenris really the only one who could somewhat keep his wits about him while under the influence? He might be bitter but at least he was able to keep his head. To some degree, that is.

"You should probably head home, Hawke," said Isabela, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder –probably keeping an eye out for either templars or the bad poet, Fenris reflected –"Your… mother is probably worried. After what Carver pulled, she's probably convinced herself you've signed up for the Grey Wardens or something equally dramatic."

"It's my life," Hawke groaned into the tabletop, her voice muffled by the messy waves of blonde hair pooling against the wood on either side of her face. "I can… eat as much wine and drink as many cookies as I please."

"You can't 'eat' wine, Hawke," Varric chortled into his drink, raising the cup to his lips. "It's a liquid."

"Sure you can." In a flash of movement, she jerked the glass away from the dwarf and slammed it down against the table. Fenris watched in mute disapproval as she cupped her hand over the rim, took a deep breath, and then turned the glass over onto its side. Scarlet colored ice tipped out onto the surface, slush crawling across the counter to stain Isabela's bodice. Satisfied, Hawke turned back to Varric with a sloppy grin and a cocky attitude. "See? It's solid now."

"Yes, we all see," Varric too was looking over his shoulder at the bar, searching the crowd for templars, Fenris was now certain. "You'll probably want to get home while you can still walk, Hawke." He glanced at Isabela. "Should one of us…?"

Isabela empathetically shook her head. "Not I. _I_ have a man waiting for me upstairs."

Her gaze wandered in Fenris's direction. She began to stare at the elf pointedly and Fenris buckled under the pressure of her chocolate brown eyes. "I do live closest," he allowed.

"Not him," Hawke was shaking her blonde head now. "We'll get in trouble with the city magistrates. Fenris hates magistrates. They sacrifice elves for their sons in ancient ruins with lava and skeletons…"

Isabela giggled. Varric rolled his eyes. "Get her home, Broody. Go with him, Hawke."

Obediently, she followed Fenris to the exit, stumbling over tables and patrons until, out of necessity, Fenris was forced to take Hawke's hand and guide her forward. She giggled at the touch; he wanted to throw something against the wall at the absurdity of the entire situation. The door swung shut behind them. Once they were a few yards away from the Hanged Man, Hawke became surprisingly animated, commenting, "I feel like I'm walking with a ghost. Why don't you talk to me? You never do. All through the Deep Roads, I swear you didn't say three words to me."

"Did you count?" Fenris asked testily.

"Alcohol makes you moody, doesn't it?" The usually tactful Hawke seemed to have no filter on what came out of her mouth. "But you're always moody. You and Carver and Gamlen all are like this; why can't you be fun? Come to think of it," she stopped in her tracks on the steps up to Hightown, "everyone I know has these deep, dark problems. What's wrong with all of you?"

"Maybe you should instead ask yourself why you don't know anyone who is 'fun.'" He stopped with her on the steps and for a fleeting moment he considered leaving her there altogether. No, he couldn't do that. Aveline would be after his hide and Danarius would seem merciful in comparison.

"Bethany was fun," said Hawke thoughtfully, gazing up at the stars with half a smile. "Why can't you all be more like her? I remember she'd…" Her voice came to a sudden halt and her dreamy expression dissipated like smoke to be replaced with a look of sheer panic. "Fenris," her other hand latched firmly upon his wrist; he winced at the contact but she didn't notice. "Fenris, I can't remember what Bethany looks like."

He moved to pry her fingers from his gauntlet but stopped himself before he did; he didn't know why. "You're drunk, Hawke," he told her, trying to be gentle; he didn't know why he was doing that either. "Of course you don't remember. You wouldn't have remembered your own name had we let you continue drinking."

"But I can't remember." Her grey eyes were pleading with him. "She was my family, Fenris; she was important to me. Why can't I remember her face and yet I remember your name? Shouldn't my sister be something that I will never forget?"

That sounded too familiar; Fenris looked away. "You would be surprised," he answered shortly.

She stared at him for a long moment in wonder, as though he were the sun and she a blind woman. He might as well have been Andraste herself if one judged by Hawke's expression alone. For a moment, she looked as though she finally understood. And then she giggled and all illusions were shattered. "You're funny," she told him lightly and with a snort of laughter added, "I could never forget Bethany. There's a portrait of someone who looks just like her back home; Carver and I found it last year. You could come and see it if you like."

"Not tonight," he answered and quickly turned his attention to guiding a drunken Ariadne Hawke back to her mansion.

She rolled into her four poster bed with the same dreamy smile she had worn all night save for that one moment of panic. Fenris turned to leave her and then looked back in surprise when her hand caught his wrist again. "Stay," she told him.

"No," he replied.

Her hand dropped from his wrist; her head rolled back onto her pillow. "Fine," she yawned. "Go back to haunting your mansion, you ghost. Just stop haunting me."

That last comment made him turn back in surprise. Her eyes were already closed as she sleepily murmured, "I don't know why I think about you so much. You're not very important. But you can't know how much I think or don't think about you. You can't read my mind. You're not even here."

Fenris was taken aback; there were few other words that could so describe it as he gazed into the crackling fire in confusion. Did Hawke think of him? If so, what did she think about him? Did Ariadne Hawke, pretty, grey-eyed Ariadne Hawke with her magic and her wit and her temper, ever think of him? Perhaps he could ask her. In this state, perhaps he could get anything out of her.

He turned back again but she was already asleep, her head lulled back against the pillow, one arm curved about her head, the other hand resting on her stomach. She was snoring ever so lightly; the corners of his mouth curved upward to hear such a human sound coming from the indomitable Ariadne Hawke. Her blonde hair had flopped over her face; strands lay against the curve of her mouth, fluttering slightly. Inspired, he gently pushed the curls from her features so that she could breathe easier.

He ran his fingers against the angle of her cheekbone before he could stop himself, transfixed. How could something as powerful as a mage look so vulnerable? He could have killed her half a dozen times over between the Hanged Man and here but the thought had never occurred to him. Perhaps that was part of the danger.

The mere thought of danger should have made him stop, made him want to run. It should have woken him from whatever this was. But it didn't. He pulled his hand back from Hawke's face and slowly left the room, considering this.


	13. 013 Twisted

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**013: Twisted**

As Feynriel disappeared, running through the Fade in a burst of light, the illusion shattered and Hawke felt Kirkwall's first enchanter's guise slip away. Her hands became her own once more and her hair fell loose around her shoulders. She glanced right, watched Isabela and Aveline appear, looked left, saw Fenris again, and sighed with relief. But other realities were not nearly so reassuring.

Before Keeper Marethari had eased her way into the Fade with this ritual, Hawke had never encountered a demon in its natural realm save under Malcolm Hawke's watchful eye. Even then, those creatures had been lesser monsters, weak things of sloth and rage, easily outwitted. As the false Keeper crackled and buckled under the lifting of the illusion, Hawke caught glimpses of the pride demon's true form and had felt her knees begin to tremble as they always did when she was put under pressure. But this creature, this _demon_, in all of its true glory created what felt like a void, an endless realm of all of things Hawke wanted, the things she admired in others and coveted for her own uses, the places she _should_ be instead of where she was now. Her natural talent in magic –the thing that set her apart from Carver, the usurper of her place in the Hawke family –intensified to a degree where she could get anything she wanted.

_Magic is meant to serve man and not rule over him. _She could destroy that phrase forever. Already, she could hear that hated revered mother in Lothering's chantry emphasizing that phrase in her Chant of Light, feel her father's grip tighten on her shoulder at the sound. And then the revered mother's voice shifted to her father's and the illusion broke a second time.

"I could have given him power," hissed the demon and yet the whisper seemed to come from within Hawke, from somewhere between her lungs and her ribs, drawn out like an long sigh from her mouth, swirling around her, intoxicating unspoken promises flickering at her ears. "I can still give _you_ power."

Her knees buckled and it was all she could do to draw herself back up to her full height. "I want nothing you have to offer," she declared, trying to look the creature in its eyes but its eyes was everywhere, multiple pairs and they were all focused on her, just like the eyes of Kirkwall, just waiting for the Arishok to run her through with his blade one of these days. She swallowed. "And neither does Feynriel. You saw proof enough of that. He only wants freedom."

"Who are you to speak for him?" the demon growled, its tongue flickering between its teeth. "Who are you to speak for your companions? Do you think this slave would choose you over his own freedom?"

_Fenris. _She glanced over her shoulder in panic, saw his expression change and then harden. There was nothing in it; there was something in it. There was doubt, even as he said, "Cast your eyes elsewhere, demon. I have my freedom."

"Do you?" the demon replied lazily. "Do you know what freedom feels like or do you feel hunted still?" She saw Fenris take a step back, bite down on the corner of his mouth. "You think of him often, do you not? Wonder what he plans, if he will come within the month, the year. It's only a matter of time, as you know. You are living with a tiger at your back, little wolf. When it finally catches up to you, do you not wish the power to defeat it once and for all?"

Panic leapt in Hawke's throat. She turned toward the elf, her heart racing. "You know that if you accept, you are no better than them."

"And do you think she is superior? Do you think she will be any different, when she is backed against the wall? What it will take for her to show her true colors, you wonder. You already know she consorts with abominations. Apathy is agreement."

"Fenris," the sound of his name made the elf's head snap back toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, Hawke already saw Aveline reaching for her sword as Fenris's stance shifted to be slightly predatory. "The demon is twisting your thoughts, trying to make you turn on me. Don't listen. It isn't what you want. I'm telling you it isn't what you want."

"Who are you to tell me what I want?" Fenris questioned, his eyes narrowing.

"What a good question," the demon commented, its eyes narrowing to slits as well. "Who is she to tell you what to do? She is a mage, little wolf; she is one of them. Have you traded one master for another? You would never have lingered so long in one place otherwise."

"Fenris," she was pleading now. Aveline, unnoticed, already had unsheathed blade in hand. "I am not your master. I am your friend. I care about you. Listen to me. Just days ago," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "you said–"

"What did you say, little wolf? Are you even sure that the thoughts were your own?" The demon paused, letting Fenris consider it and the elf did. Hawke saw the self-doubt running across his face. "The reasons you are still here could be pretense. Whatever you think you feel for her could be a lie. Why do you buckle under her command? You know better than to let anyone too close. There could be blood magic at work here. Did you not see the signs? Has this magister-to-be blinded you so? Would you end her hold over you, end the hold of all magic over you? Would you face her and all other mages as an equal? I can give you that. She could never do so much."

"What," Fenris paused, dragged his eyes from Hawke's face, turned his gaze to the demon. "What would you have me do?"

"Don't do this, Fenris," Hawke snapped, whipping her staff out into one hand. "I'll fight you and you won't win. And we don't know what will happen then."

"With the power that all magisters crave behind you, is there any question of victory?" the demon purred.

"I have to do this, Hawke," he told her, advancing slowly, the pupils dilated in his moss green eyes. "If this is the price I must pay… I _am_ sorry."

Tattoos gleaming in the Fade's hazy light, greatsword in hand, he launched himself forward. Hawke had a barely a moment's notice to throw herself left; for all of his words, for all of the demon's influence, she had never truly thought it would come to this. _Bloody demon_; she got to her feet and charged the monstrous creature, bringing her staff down and then up in a blazing swathe of fire. The demon howled. Hawke grinned; even under these circumstances she took delight in the victory.

She whipped her weapon back into the _ready _position and turned back just in time to see Fenris charge her again. Hawke dove out of the way a second time –the demon was dead; it was only a matter of time before Fenris came back to his senses –but Aveline moved forward into the fray, blade drawn to protect her friend. Fenris turned, looking for Hawke, but the mage was out of his reach and Aveline's sword come crashing down into his shoulder.

He stumbled forward; fell onto his knees as he dropped his sword. He stared down at the deep wound in his shoulder. Hawke resisted the urge to run to him; for all she knew, he might attack her again. Fenris touched the gash in his flesh with his fingers; there was no blood but he was mortally wounded all the same and he knew it. He looked up; his eyes met Hawke's for the briefest of moments. He tried to say something and then he was gone.

"What… just happened?" asked Isabela, still staring at the spot where Fenris had been moments before.

"He turned on us; that's what happened," answered Aveline grimly. Her steady gaze turned on Hawke. "He turned on _all_ of us."

Hawke shook her head; not in dissent but as though to clear her mind. "I know that," she replied curtly. "The demon focused on him. Could you have done any better when under the influence of such a being?"

"Ariadne, he isn't good for you."

"Who are you to say what's good for me?" she snapped in return. "And who are you to judge him? Whatever those magisters did to him…"

"Whatever those magisters did to him, it has been six years since he escaped and he still cannot bring himself past it. He hates mages, Hawke. Do you think he'll make an exception for you? He's all twisted up inside, Hawke, and you can't do anything about it. This isn't something you can save him from."

"But Aveline," something in Hawke's voice made her friend look at her, truly look at her. "Aveline, if _I_ don't try, who is going to?"

…

**A/N:** Okay, I'm having a ridiculously downer week but writing always seems to make me feel better. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please review if you did!


	14. 014 Ignore

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**014: Ignore**

The sun was setting over Hightown as Fenris approached the newly rechristened Hawke Estate. That idiotic qunari-hating templar Varnell had broken the elf's greatsword a week before and Fenris had had to make do with an inadequate replacement ever since. Bodahn had promised that a dwarven friend of his could mend the blade. Hawke had graciously offered to front the cost but Fenris had declined. He had means of his own, a fact to which she often seemed cheerfully oblivious. She was kind to him; he would grant her that. But he would see how that kindness held up after what had happened… after what had happened.

Earlier that evening, Fenris had received a message that the repair work had been completed and the sword delivered to the estate. And so here he was, despite his trepidation at returning to scene of… It was easier not to think of it. He raised his fist to the door, hammering out a quiet rhythm.

The door opened in response but the answerer was not Bodahn nor Sandal nor any of the other servants Leandra Hawke might have employed. It was just his luck that it would be Hawke but it was not Hawke as he saw her often. This was a… different Hawke: someone in a blue dress that clung to her waist and flared into a full skirt at the hips, whose hair was braided back into a bun at the nape of her neck –he remembered the softness of her skin there where the coils of hair rested though he tried not to think of it when in her presence. Moreover, this was a Hawke who looked back at him with an expression of absolute impassivity, someone who was as hard and unyielding as the diamonds in her ears. He caught his breath at first sight of her and then quickly schooled his expression to match hers.

"I suppose you're here for your sword, yes?" The eyebrow she arched was the look of a trained courtier; he could not help but glean some satisfaction out of the fact she felt she had to guard herself around him. Satisfaction was replaced with guilt when he remembered that she should not have to, that he did not want her to. He nodded and she turned, leading the way into the foyer. "Bodahn is busy but I might be able to fetch it for you."

"Yes," he managed to get out; he had been distracted first by the whisper of her skirt sliding across the flagstones and then by the sound of a man's laughter in the other room. His head jerked up and around at the latter sound. Fenris cleared his throat. "Do you mind… telling me what you're doing tonight?"

Her nose crinkled at the awkward phrasing of the question as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Mother has invited the seneschal's son to dinner –without my consent, I might add –and Saemus Dumar stopped by. He'll do anything to escape the keep, I guess, even if it means listening to Mother talk on and on about the de Launcets."

"Your mother is still trying to arrange a match for you then."

"And what would you care?" She turned to fully face him, her gray eyes hard. The only thing that could betray her true… anger, anxiety, whatever she felt at seeing him again –was how she twisted the pearl ring on her left hand around her third finger over and over. The ring's setting matched that of her new earrings; Fenris found himself focusing on minute details.

"That's the ring you found in the Deep Roads," he pointed out and felt like a fool for doing so.

He caught her by surprise; she glanced down in confusion. "Yes, I…" She looked back up at him. "I had almost forgotten you had been there."

"I have been many places with you," was his reply and Fenris was struck by the truth of the sentiment. Here he was standing with half-bare feet and she in pearls and yet some twist of fate had brought them together. Had done more than that, if either of them would acknowledge what had transpired close to a month ago. For a moment, looking at her in silk, he thought not for the first time of how in another life she would have made a most desirable magister, a powerful woman whom Danarius himself might have courted. He thought of how in that other world he would have appeared to be a mere slave to her eyes. And that despite that neither of those things was true –Hawke was no magister and he was no slave –the fact that she was still ignoring him made anger boil up inside of him, even if he knew it all came out of a bed of his own making.

"Why didn't you just tell your mother that you had someone waiting for you down at the Hanged Man like you did last time?" Fenris asked before he could stop himself, unable to keep the angry edge off of his tone.

Hawke flushed, gray eyes blazing, and he knew he was going to get it now. "Because," she answered curtly. "That's because last time, I actually had someone waiting for me down there: _you_. And because I had nothing planned this time around, I decided I was in need of some entertainment."

"Entertainment?" he repeated crossly. "And what does this poor fool think he's getting himself into?"

"I don't know, Fenris!" she snapped back at him, throwing her arms out in mocking supplication. "What did you think you were getting yourself into? What am _I_ getting myself into now? I have no idea but I'm looking for something that might be a little more permanent. Perhaps marriage will prove to be something less negotiable than a one night stand."

"Marriage?" he repeated incredulously.

"We'll see," she replied tersely. "Though I doubt it would come to that. Being an apostate, I can't allow anyone too close. That's the first rule of survival, or so I've been told."

He flinched at those last few words as she probably knew he would. For a moment, he thought he saw regret flicker across her face. "I'll go find Bodahn," she said quietly. "You'd better leave soon. I don't think Mother's guests will be staying much longer and I don't want you ripping any of their hearts out."

Helplessly, he watched her walk away into the main hall. He did not expect to see her again tonight; she would most likely send Bodahn out to send Fenris on his way. His mouth twisted wryly; it seemed he knew her too well. He had known she would be angry; livid even. He felt regret at the thought of her never wanting to see him again, even though this quarrel had not come to that. _It's easier this way, _Fenris told himself again. He was certain that he would have to repeat this sentiment to himself a great deal more times before he began to actually believe it.

…

**A/N:** I dreamt up this little snapshot while walking to the convenience store. Unfortunately, by the time I had gotten through with my little philosophical debate with the cashier, I had forgotten half of what I had planned. I'm still very pleased with this though. Please review if you enjoyed it!


	15. 015 Belong

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**015: Belong**

"Varric is very jealous."

"Of what, I might ask?" Fenris inquired idly in response, trying to ignore the impatient manner in which Hawke moved about her study, rearranging things and glancing at random passages in the book he was reading.

"Apparently, you completely thrashed him and Donnic the other night at the Hanged Man." She was standing behind him again, resting her hands on the back of chair and leaning her blonde head over his shoulder. "By the way, that word is 'irretrievable'."

"I knew that," he replied crossly, resisting the urge to close his book and close her out. "And before you start putting any bets on me, Hawke, you should know that I'm usually very bad at cards."

She shrugged and a few loose blonde locks fell onto his shoulder. "Well, you know what they say…"

Fenris looked up from the book, focused his gaze on the far wall. "What do they say?" he asked, keeping his tone disinterested.

"Unlucky at cards," she planted a light kiss against his collarbone, "lucky in love."

"Can't... the two ever go together?" he asked, closing his eyes at her touch.

Hawke chuckled. "Have you ever seen Varric attached to a woman other than Bianca?"

"No, I can't say that I have," Fenris answered as she ran a hand through his hair. "But it seems that both Donnic and I have luck where it counts."

"I thought you didn't believe in luck."

"Well, something must have brought me to you," he murmured in return, the book sliding from his lap as he turned in his seat to kiss her. "It was either luck or the Maker suddenly deciding he feels bad about my being a slave."

"Blasphemous," she mumbled into his mouth.

"It was one or the other."

"Take your pick," she whispered, her eyes inches from his. "I couldn't care less, so long as luck or the Maker keeps you here."

Smiling, he leaned in to kiss her again but she pulled back to be just out of reach with a grin. "Do you tease me just because you find it amusing?" he growled.

"Why else?" she quipped back at him with a challenging smile. With another growl, he got up and shoved the chair out of the way, advancing on her. She stepped just out of reach again, gray eyes dancing. "You're angry now?"

"If I am, it's your own fault," Fenris informed Hawke as his tattoos lit up just before he launched himself at her.

They ended up in the floor, grappling at each other and trying to peel off their pesky clothing. Hawke had rolled over on top of Fenris, breathing heavily, and had almost managed to pull her tunic over her head when they heard Bodhan's voice from behind the closed door to the main hall:

"A letter just arrived for you, Mistress Hawke. I'll leave it on the desk for you to read at your own discretion."

Was it just Hawke's imagination that her manservant had emphasized that last word in a meaningful way? Either way, the mood was ruined and Fenris seemed to agree.

She rolled back off of the elf and onto the floor beside him, turning her head to watch his markings flicker back to normal. "Why is it that all of the men in my life glow?" she muttered before she could stop herself.

Fenris's head turned sharply to face her. "The mage is not 'in your life'."

"He was at one point," she admitted.

"But not anymore. You are mine." She flinched at the possessive note in his voice and Fenris's expression softened in response. "And I am yours."

Satisfied, Hawke curled into the crook of his arm. "Do you tease me like this because it amuses you?" she asked, suddenly sleepy.

Looking over at her, he grinned. "Why else?"

"Because you love me," she whispered against his mouth before kissing him again.

…

**A/N:** It's a little short but this was fun to write! I hope you all enjoyed it as well. XD


	16. 016 Bittersweet

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**015: Bittersweet**

Lightening lit up the sky above Hightown, flickering through the gaps in the curtains. In her estate's kitchen, Ariadne Hawke stabbed her favorite knife into a pomegranate, listened for the thunder, and thought of a certain broody elf.

She wondered if he had made it back to Kirkwall before the storm hit. It couldn't be pleasant out there along the Wounded Coast. That was where she had guessed he had gone; she couldn't be sure. For all Hawke knew, Fenris might have run out of those slavers' caverns with the intention of running all the way back to Tevinter in pursuit of his supposed sister. The knife slipped in her hand, cutting into her flesh; one red liquid mixed with another in her palm. She was struck with the realization that she didn't really know Fenris; that she couldn't predict what he would do next.

She reached for a drying cloth with the intention of cleaning up the cut on her hand but stopped and turned around when she saw his reflection in the rain-painted window, the towel floating down to the floor, forgotten: "Fenris."

His shocking white hair was plastered to his forehead; he looked as though he might be shivering, water dripping from the edges of his leather tunic. Hawke was struck with the urge to wrap him in a blanket and seat him in front of the fire. She pushed the thought aside as he said by way of explanation, "I have been thinking about what happened with Hadriana –you're bleeding."

"It's only pomegranate juice," she replied, the shock of seeing him temporarily numbing the pain in her hand. She held up crimson-stained palms to show him. "And… a little blood."

"With my hands, it's always blood," he observed with a quick, bitter smile.

Hawke shrugged. "Must be an occupational hazard," she replied, her tone carelessly biting. "You do make a habit of tearing people's hearts out, even when you promise that you won't."

He tensed at the passive aggressive notes in her voice. "You don't understand. When I was still a slave, Hadriana had a sick fascination with me. It was a great pleasure if hers to cause me great misery. Seeing her again after all of these years... I couldn't let all of that go. Perhaps I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"Sweet Maker, Fenris," she slammed her uninjured palm on the kitchen table, causing both knife and fruit to rattle against the wood. "Just admit that you wanted to kill her and be done with it," Hawke snapped. "It's been six years now since you got away; six bloody years. It's not about freedom now, or it shouldn't be anyway. It's about revenge and you know it."

"It is about freedom," he snarled back at her. "It's about not living with a wolf at my back."

"Everyone had wolves at their backs!"

"Few as persistent as these. I suppose you wouldn't understand–"

"Understand what?" Her voice grew louder in an effort to make herself heard over the rumbling of thunder. "I may be a mage but I am no magister. I am an apostate, Fenris; more than that, I am a somewhat notorious apostate living in Kirkwall. I live in a city top full of bloody wolves and you come to me and…"

Her gray eyes held his for a moment of loaded silence and then her gaze skirted away from his. "I don't know why I bother," Hawke said abruptly to the pots hanging on the wall. "You're right: this is about freedom."

"What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed, sensing that her agreement was a front for another argument.

"It's obvious to me that you're far from free." They locked gazes again; her expression was defiant. "You may not wear chains anymore but, for all your talk, you might as well put them back on. That's all you seem to see in yourself after all."

Someone had to say it to him; from her discussions with her friends, someone else was going to say it to Fenris soon. Better he try to tear out her heart than Aveline's or Varric's. At least Hawke could freeze him to the ground before he tried. But he didn't leap at her; his tattoos didn't glow. He stared at her with furious incredulity and then snarled at her from across the room, "You know nothing of being a slave."

He crossed the room in three angry strides, advancing on her until Hawke found her back pressed against the windowpane, the feeling of cold glass through her thin robe making her shiver. "I acknowledge that I should not have made you the focus of my anger back at the caves but do _not_ press me now. You can't understand; it's like a sickness, this hate, and I can't get rid of it. And they put it there! And for all that you say that you are so different–"

"You don't want me to be different," Hawke interjected. "That's the truth of it. You wouldn't know what to do if you decided I was."

That was when his markings lit up like the lightening outside. For a moment, Hawke wondered if she would be dead in his arms within the minute as he shoved her hard against the window. And then before she could think –of her mother upstairs, of her brother in the Gallows, of her father and sister with the Maker already –Hawke realized that Fenris had not killed her. He was kissing her instead and she found that she did not mind at all.

"I'm no slave," he snarled at her, his green eyes inches from hers.

"I'm no magister," she snapped back at him and kissed him as savagely as he had kissed her.

She felt his hands begin to grab at her clothes and that was when she broke the string of kisses. "Wait," she said, breathless. He complied, looking back at her with dilated pupils and a hazy expression. "Not here. Not like this. I don't want this to be angry."

"As you wish," he said, stepping back. Did he look disappointed? Hawke thought he did.

"Tomorrow," she promised him. "Tomorrow, once we deal with that templar and his investigation."

"I shall see you then," Fenris agreed, his tone inexplicably grave, and Hawke watched him leave the kitchen and presumably go out into the night.

Her hand was beginning to throb. She stared down at the blood mixed with juice and wondered at how easily pain could be disguised with sweetness, desire, whatever the occasion called for and yet, once the high melted away, everything could still hurt.


	17. 017 Isolation

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**017: Isolation**

"What's going on between you and my sister?"

Fenris chose to say nothing at first. Instead of responding or even showing any sign of a reaction to Carver's demand, the elf took another sip of his drink and allowed the Hanged Man's din to ring in his ears for a moment. He had never appreciated the white noise more.

Carver was patient; Fenris was impressed. Perhaps templar training had indeed done something for Hawke's once abrasive younger brother. "I don't know what you're talking about," Fenris finally replied shortly. "Perhaps you should be directing this question at Anders."

"Anders? She hasn't been sleeping with Anders too, has she?"

No. The younger Hawke was just as much of a block-headed idiot as ever. "Why don't you ask her?" Fenris answered with another question and raised his glass to indicate the happy couple playing wicked grace with Varric and Isabela at a table across the room. Carver followed Fenris's gaze to where his older sister sat beside Anders, so close that she might as well have been sitting on the mage's lap, under the pretense of advising him on his hand. Fenris took another long drink in an attempt to drown the rage boiling in his throat at the sight of them.

"I…" Carver started to speak and then stopped. His blue eyes were wide. "I didn't… see her over there," he finished rather lamely. "But… I'm not going to ask her. I'm asking you. Varric said that you and she were…"

"Varric needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut." Maybe more alcohol would help. He waved the bartender over. Corff deposited Fenris's next drink, swept the empty cup away.

"Maker knows I could use one of those." Carver took his place at the bar beside the elf and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking for spare coin. The pennies clattered on the wooden counter followed by the clunk of a cup. Hawke's younger brother dragged the ale toward him with every appearance of intending to nurse the drink for the rest of the night. Fenris made no comment; it was Carver's move after all.

"The pint," Carver began, "I mean the point here is that I don't want you playing around with my sister's feelings. She's my sister and I don't want anyone messing with her."

"Hawke is a grown woman."

"_And_ my sister," Carver growled in return. "And I'm supposed to protect her, whether from templars or broody, mage-hating bastards who decide to bed her and then walk out on her. Sound familiar, elf?"

_Too familiar, _he thought but he couldn't say that. "I do not brood. And I do not hate all mages."

"So you're a liar too? My sister has excellent taste." Carver sighed. "I don't even understand why you hate mages so much. We get the magister thing, but what about here? What are they supposed to say? 'Sorry, I was born this way'?"

"You're the templar," replied Fenris evenly. "You tell me."

"That's…" he started and then stopped, thinking. "That's beside the point, elf. You haven't answered me about Ariadne."

"You didn't ask any questions. You've just been complaining."

"What exactly are your intentions toward my sister? There's one; sorry I didn't spell it out for you."

There had been a time when Fenris would have been annoyed at that comment; incensed even. But he was well aware that, in the larger scheme of things, he was in no way the injured party. And also that if Fenris so tried to rip out Carver Hawke's internal organs, Ariadne Hawke would probably freeze him where he stood. So instead he answered, "I intend nothing."

"Is that so?" Carver didn't sound convinced. "What are you doing here then?"

"Drinking, as you've observed," he nodded to his cup.

"Then drink. And stop staring at her. You're making her nervous."

"She seems perfectly content." Fenris made a point of staring at Hawke just to irk her brother and realized with a pang that her hair was only three shades darker than the abomination's. Even more painful: Isabela seemed to have taken it upon herself to "stumble" into the happy apostate couple and push Hawke entirely onto Anders's lap. Neither seemed to mind much.

Following Fenris's gaze again, Carver groaned at his sister's blatant display of affection and downed the rest of his drink. "Maybe it's for the best," the templar said, obviously trying to accustom himself to the sight of his sister with her knees draped over an abomination's lap. "They can be fugitives together."

"If you truly took issue with that mage, you could always invoke your templar authority," replied Fenris evenly, almost hoping that Carver would. "But somehow I don't see you kicking down Merrill's door any time soon."

Carver flushed in response. "I don't see you reporting him to the templars either, elf. And why don't you, if you hate him so damn much?"

"If you want to drag your sister's friends into the Gallows, you can take it up with her." He drained the dregs of his cup and winced at the bitter taste. "I've already made her…" Fenris stopped.

"You know," began Carver, his voice conversational but not without an edge, blue eyes fixed on the elf's profile, "if I weren't a templar and you didn't glow, I would take you out into the street and beat you within an inch of your life for breaking my sister's heart."

"I have never been more grateful for this curse to reach into a man's chest and tear out his insides," answered Fenris ironically, rapping his knuckles on the countertop again. "That's a first."

"Be grateful," the templar said flatly, "and if she decides she wants someone else, it's her business and you keep out of it."

Fenris's eyes narrowed at the potential threat but Carver merely pushed himself away from the bar, striding deliberately across the Hanged Man's main room to plant himself beside Isabela's chair. The elf watched the pirate and the templar exchange words before Carver swept Isabela out of her seat, sat down, and then pulled her into his lap with new confidence. Isabela giggled. Hawke shook her head with mock disapproval. Anders tightened his grip around Hawke's waist. Apparently feeling left out, Varric reached out and pretended to grab at Nora the barmaid as she passed. She squawked and giggled in response, scurrying out of reach with her jug.

Across the room, Fenris frowned. _Stupid idea, thinking I could have someone, _he thought morbidly, his thoughts as well as his tongue seemingly loosened by the drink. _Stupid people, thinking they might be in love. Stupid Anders, thinking he's in love with her. She doesn't love him. She can't love him. She's not stupid._ But the silly grin on her face was telling him otherwise. Shamed, he looked down again at his glass. It was half-empty already; he should fix that soon.

He missed Hawke and knew he had no right to.


	18. 018 Push

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**018: Push**

"_He_ is delicious."

"Who's 'he'?" asked Merrill in her usual chirpy voice, obviously oblivious to the seductive growl that marked Isabela being on the prowl. Hawke, being more aware of such things, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, hiding a smile at the young Dalish elf's naiveté.

"Take your pick, Kitten," replied the pirate, licking her lips as she gazed across the Hanged Man's din. It was New Year's Eve and the pub's usual occupants seemed determined to celebrate, regardless of the growing tensions between Kirkwall and the resident qunari that had marked the past three years since Hawke's expedition into the Deep Roads. Varric had coin to spend and he intended to spend it lavishly on a celebration, inviting his many friends down to the bar to celebrate the year's final hours. There were drinks and dancing but Isabela seemed to have other kinds of revelry on her mind.

Isabela gazed across the room at her targets, idly stirring her drink with her little finger. In dreamy voice, she began her list: "There's Anders, with his soft hands and those amber eyes…"

"And that spirit of Justice living in his head," Hawke interrupted with a laugh. "You can't forget that."

"Then there's that prince we met ages ago. He's a real reason to go to the Chantry," she continued, ignoring her friend, "what with those piercing blue eyes and a true archer's muscles…"

"That only the Maker's bride herself will ever be permitted to admire, let alone touch," Hawke rejoined ruefully.

"But there's always Varric…"

"Try again, 'Bela."

"But the chest hair," the pirate swooned.

"You'll never get between him and Bianca," Hawke chuckled, raising her glass to her lips and savoring the scorch of whiskey.

"Fine," conceded Isabela, shooting Hawke a look of pure irritation. "It's Bianca I really want anyway. But even you have to admit that Fenris is yummy."

"'Yummy' is how I would describe a pastry or… or dessert, not a person."

"Well, put some whipped cream on him, Hawke. You have no imagination. Besides," Isabela smiled wickedly, nudging Merrill with her elbow, "I've seen the way you look at him. _You_ think he's yummy too; admit it."

Hawke felt a telltale blush creep up onto her face as her gaze skirted across the Hanged Man's floor to linger on the elf in question. Fenris was playing diamondback with the other subjects of their conversation and she had to admit –to herself and only to herself –that she barely looked at Anders, Sebastian, or Varric when there was that strip of exposed skin running down the back of Fenris's armor claiming her total attention…

"Oh," Isabela's deliberate sigh broke into Hawke's growing fantasy, "you like him more than I thought."

"No," Hawke dragged her gaze back to her female companions. "No, he hates mages."

"We're not talking politics, sweet thing; we're talking about a man, a woman, and one night of no worries…" A grin spread across Isabela's face, chocolate brown eyes twinkling. "I dare you to get him to dance with you."

"I dare you to kiss him," interjected Merrill with a giggle.

"I dare you to screw him–"

"No, no, and no!" said Hawke, her mouth in the firm, stubborn line that her mother and brother knew so well. "I couldn't… Not with him, Anders maybe, but not with… Really, Isabela?"

"Here's the deal, sweet thing," Isabela began, leaning forward and planting her elbows on the tabletop. "Either you go over there and dance with him or I'm going to go over there and try and guess what color his underclothes are again. Or," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, "you could find out for the both of us."

"Fine," said Hawke, slamming her hand down on the table in defeat as she stood up. Merrill jumped a little at the sound. "But if he starts glowing," she told Isabela, "I want a clear path to that door."

"And you'll get it," she confirmed gaily, raising her cup in a toast. "Go get him, tiger."

"Fenris doesn't like tigers," Hawke heard Merrill say to Isabela as the newly noble mage started across the room. "He's always comparing his old master to one."

"Some tigers are great. In the sack, I mean."

"Have I missed something, 'Bela?"

Ariadne Hawke shook her head at Merrill's inane cluelessness but kept moving forward, gray eyes determined on her target. Was she really going to do this? Dance with Fenris, she meant; she refused to even entertain the notion of doing any of the other things her friends had suggested. New Year's Eve or not, Hawke was determined to keep her panties on.

"Fenris." He looked up at the sound of his name. It was Hawke. She was wearing the same orange dress she had had on that night when he had found her sitting on a bench in Hightown and they had spoken of… divine providence. He had told her that she looked like fire and light and she still did, framed by the Hanged Man's hazy interior, though her dress had had a couple of adjustments in the bodice department (Isabela's doing no doubt). The sight of her leaning one hand on the back of his chair made him catch his breath; that was new.

"Stop distracting Broody and Blondie over there with your cleavage," said Varric, rearranging his hand. "They need to keep their wits about them." The dwarf threw down a pair of cards. "I've trumped you, boys. You'd better kiss Broody for luck, Hawke. He's gonna need it tonight."

"A kiss means a lot of things on New Year's," said Anders. "You'd better be careful who you give it to, Hawke." He smiled at her and she smiled back, happy to see no trace of electric blue in his amber eyes. He was getting better at controlling Justice all of the time it seemed.

"I…" Maker, this was harder than she thought it would be. Suddenly she was fifteen and back at Lothering's romp for King Cailan's coronation, trying to catch the miller's son's eye. She swallowed. "Fenris, do you want to dance with me?"

The cards fell from his hand, landing face down on the table. The elf turned in his chair to look up at her, incredulous. "Dance?" he repeated.

"It could be fun," said Hawke. "And–"

"Isabela put you up to this, didn't she?" asked Anders, tossing a pair of cards toward the table's center with an uncharacteristic scowl.

"I am shocked and dismayed that you would believe such a thing of me, Anders," replied Hawke, laying a hand upon her very exposed chest. "How about it, Fenris?"

"I do not know how to dance–"

"Come now," Varric scoffed. "What about all of those grand fetes in Tevinter? Surely you hung around some of those with Danarius."

"I was his bodyguard," said Fenris in return, turning green eyes skyward, "not his dance partner. I haven't the slightest… No."

"It's alright, Fenris," said Hawke, feeling guilty that she had put him on the spot like this. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen…"

Looking over his shoulder, Anders watched as Hawke wove her way back around the dancers and away from them. The moment the apostate had reached Isabela and Merrill, he turned back to his companions and said, "Well, one thing had been made clear: the elf is an idiot."

"Watch your tongue, mage, unless you would have me rip it out."

"That probably wasn't your most shining moment, Broody," said Varric, absentmindedly flicking a card across the table.

"I don't know why Hawke wastes her time on this–"

That was enough. Hawke had long since retreated all of the way back to her original table, standing with her back to the diamondback players, recounting the disaster to Isabela and Merrill. She was stalling before the part about Fenris outright saying no when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Before she could say anything, she found herself roughly turned around, pushed up onto the wooden table, and kissed. Hard.

And she liked it. She wound her arms around the back of his head, closing her gray eyes in appreciation, blissfully unaware of the spectacle they were putting on for the Hanged Man's occupants, and kissed him back, biting down lightly on his lower lip. And then Fenris drew back, breaking the contact. Hawke's arms dropped from his shoulders, her behind slipping from the table and her feet landing on the floor. She just stared at him, awed.

"New Year's luck, Hawke," he said to her and then turned and walked out the door into the night, leaving her both impressed and confused. She looked over her shoulder at her friends: Merrill, unsurprisingly, was wide eyed. Isabela (mark the date and time) had been struck speechless. Hawke didn't blame them; she found that she didn't have anything to say either.

Across the room, Varric was grinning from ear to ear. "Who knew he had it in him?" the dwarf said admiringly, probably already weaving plotlines for future romances in his head. "Sorry you missed your chance, Blondie, but I don't think anything could compete with _that_ performance."

"Oh, he'll screw it up," replied Anders with sour confidence. "Look at her: she has no idea what he means by any of this. I doubt _he_ even knows. He'll screw it up. Just you watch."

…

**A/N:** I realized just how depressing my last chapter was. Fenris drinking himself into oblivion is not exactly holiday cheer. So, suddenly that beginning bit of dialogue with Isabela jumps into my head and it all goes from there! It's a little longer than my other chapters but, hey, it's the holidays!

Anyhow, please review if you enjoyed it. And thank you to everyone who has put this story on Alert or listed it as a favorite. You all really keep me going. Happy holidays!


	19. 019 Alive

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**019: Alive**

The Genlock Alpha had shoved Fenris against the wall and it _hurt. _Pinned between the crumbling stone of the abandoned thaig at the floor of the elaborate Grey Warden prison and the creature's massive shield, there was no where he could go. The narrow strip of land between the ruins and the base of Corypheus's tower had become a battleground; Varric had remarked only minutes earlier that it was an excellent choke point for an ambush. That random aside had proven to be only too true.

Anders had constructed an arcane shield to keep himself and Hawke from the worst of the assault so naturally the majority of the fighting fell to Fenris. Varric kept back; with that shield and that helmet, it was near impossible for even Bianca to get a good shot in.

"What are you doing, Fenris?" Varric was shouting at him as the edge of the genlock's shield began to press against the elf's throat. "Do your magical glow thingy and get the hell out of there!"

_I can't. _Even his lyrium tattoos could not make him entirely incorporeal and, with his hands pinned to his sides like this, things did not look good. The creature's mottled face was twisted in brutal satisfaction; if it was capable of thought, it probably was thinking: _Crush, crush, smash! _It raised its shield; Fenris felt his body lifted with it until his feet were dangling.

"No!"

Hawke had tasked herself with fending off the encroaching army of lesser genlocks; until that moment, she had been at the other end of the bridge, contentedly whipping her staff about and setting darkspawn aflame. Now the fire was in her eyes as she challenged Fenris's assailant. "Hey ugly! You want a fight?" Her staff sent a trail of ice up to nip at the massive genlock's heels before she tossed a throwing knife into its shoulder. The weapon clattered off of the creature's armor but got its attention. "Try me!"

The effect was immediate. Fenris found himself dropped to the ground as the genlock alpha turned away from him and moved toward its new prey. Hawke dropped her weapon to the ground, ice and fire crackled in her bare hands. The genlock moved faster toward its target; she flung fire faster, scorching its shield. The creature picked up even more speed, driving forward until the shield itself crashed into Hawke. The mage suddenly seemed so small and helpless as she was thrown into the air to land with a splash in the waters beside the bridge.

"No!" both Fenris and Anders yelled, united in their fear. A crossbow bolt buried itself in the genlock's exposed neck but that small revenge went unnoticed as Fenris shoved past the dying creature and dove into the dark water after Hawke. 

He didn't know what he was doing as the icy water enveloped him. He didn't know anything save the blind instinct to get Hawke to safety. A small part of him noticed with satisfaction that Anders had not followed suit –probably worried about getting his coat's feathers wet –but the majority of Fenris's mind was focused on narrowing the gap between himself and Hawke's slowly sinking form. Her eyes were closed, skin ghostly and pale in the strange half light of underwater, hair billowing out around her face in a fan. His own white hair floated around his face as he propelled himself forward. _I have to get to her, _was his sole thought. _I have to save her. Because…_

Fenris didn't know the "because" and it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was within reach now, that he could wrap an arm around her waist and drive them both upward. So he did; felt the bottom of her ribcage pressing into his forearm. Her blonde head lulled to one side, falling just below his chin, the strands of her hair brushing against his throat. She was heavy, the thick fabric of her robes and the chainmail he knew was beneath were weighing them down. Idly, in some distant corner of his mind, he wondered if that was not ironic, that the trappings of a mage were dragging them both downward. That didn't matter. She had taken the fall for him and Fenris was determined to pull her to the surface, baggage and all.

Their heads broke the surface of the water. They both gasped for breath. Treading water, Fenris turned Hawke around in his arms and saw with relief that her gray eyes, though hazy, were open. He watched her cough water back into the lake before closing her eyes again and leaning her head against his shoulder. His heart leapt in worry; was she going to pass out again? Did that mean she was still in danger?

She would be in danger until he got her to shore; that much was clear. So he did. As they reached the bridge where they had been attacked, Anders reached down to take Hawke from him and unfortunately there was nothing Fenris could do to keep her from the mage. He let Anders take her from him, pull her up out of the water, and wrap his blue coat around her shivering form. Hawke's feet seemed unsteady but she could stand and seemed determined to, even with Anders all too ready to support her.

"I'm alright," she told the mage, gray eyes intent on Fenris as the elf scrambled out of the water with Varric's assistance. "I'll be fine in a minute. You saved me."

That last bit had been directed at Fenris himself who turned almost in surprise at the words. "I did," he replied, his voice both grave and… confused? Hawke didn't think she could tell and, if she could, she didn't understand. Why would he be confused? "Are you injured?"

"I got the wind knocked out of me," she answered, slightly diffident. "I almost… drowned. But I'll be fine in a minute. What about you?"

Fenris hesitated; Varric saw this. "Why don't we see about setting up camp somewhere?" the dwarf suggested. "We don't want Hawke and Broody catching consumption or anything while we're stuck down here."

"You're right," Anders agreed. "Let's find a good spot and I'll start a fire."

Moments later, Hawke found herself seated in front of crackling flames, still wearing Anders's coat. Her own cloak along with most of her garments had been laid out to dry and new ones pulled from her pack. Fenris was sitting beside the fire as well; he had been shivering too as they had trekked to the place that had become their campsite. He was sitting relatively close to her but far away all at the same time; close enough that she could reach out and touch his arm but far away enough that he could move and subtly pull himself out of her reach. But she wasn't going to touch his arm; he probably wouldn't like that, even if last New Year's… he had been drunk. She had been tipsy. Anders and Isabela had pushed them both to it in their different ways. It had been a potent combination and one that probably would not be repeated.

No matter how much she might have liked it.

"Thank you," she said to him

"Perhaps I should be thanking you," was his response. "I might have died back there with that genlock."

"You don't know that. You might have gotten away."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged with a hint of a smile, "and perhaps you would have swam back up to the surface had I not jumped in after you."

Hawke laughed a little and then looked down at her knees. "Why'd you do it?" she asked suddenly. "Why did you jump in after me?"

"Truth?" he asked. She nodded, wondered if she'd regret it. "I don't know." That wasn't enough; he saw that in her face. "It occurred to me that you have risked your life half a dozen times over for my benefit and I have been… less than appreciative. The very least I could do would be to save your life, at least once."

"And will there be other times?" she asked with a crooked smile.

Fenris chuckled. "I should hope not."

"I don't know," Hawke replied, stretching her legs out against the rocky ground. "I rather like the idea of us saving each other's lives. Though I would never intentionally put you in harm's way."

"Nor I you," said Fenris solemnly in response. _Festis bei umo canavarum_, he thought to himself and did not quite realize that he was speaking aloud.

"What does that mean?" said Hawke.

"I'll tell you someday," was his answer and she supposed that she would have to be content with that.

…

**A/N:** Just to clear some things up, this is taking place during the DLC "Legacy" which in my mind takes place between Acts 1 and 2. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and if there are any moments you might be interested in seeing in future chapters!


	20. 020 New

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**020: New**

He was… less than accustomed to these circumstances. That much had been made clear to Hawke as she guided her companions to a more sheltered area of the Wounded Coast. Not the bleeding part; though Fenris had been less than forthcoming about his past as a slave, some scars were more visible than others. It was the _helping _part: the fact that he had Aveline's shoulder to lean on and that Hawke had already offered to heal him. He was gritting his teeth as he sat himself down upon the sand not because of the pain but because he was being _stubborn_. And obstinate_. _And a dozen other adjectives that Ariadne Hawke could think up to describe her most reclusive comrade yet, strikingbeing the least likely she would ever admit aloud. _Not within Varric's earshot anyway, _she thought wryly as the dwarf took a seat near the clearing's mouth.

"I am fine," said Fenris when Hawke knelt beside him, her hand reaching for the bandages she kept in her pack.

"You're bleeding," replied Aveline, standing above them both like a protective parent. "Stop being a baby."

Hawke shot a look at her friend. This wasn't one of her fellow guardsmen she spoke to; Fenris had a temper and offending the elf ran the risk of more than simply being shouted at. The soon-to-be captain seemed to take this into account, her green eyes meeting Hawke's gray, and she turned away from the mismatched pair of former slave and apostate.

"I am fine," Fenris repeated but the way the skin around the wound had paled to a white due to the constant pressure of his hand upon the gash said otherwise. "I have a very high pain tolerance."

"I don't care if your pain tolerance reaches from here back to Minrathous," replied Hawke tartly, twisting a length of linen in her hands. "And unless you want me to heal your palm to your arm, I suggest you move your hand."

"You'd better not be one of those women who faint at the sight of a bloody wound," he growled in return.

"I'm offering to heal you," said Hawke, trying to be patient. "That means I have practice and that means that I've seen worse. Move the hand."

"I don't need _your_ healing." He whacked her fingers away with his free hand. "Stop trying to touch it."

"It's either my healing or Anders's."

"You will not allow that abomination to touch me. I will not allow it."

"Then you've made your choice." But when she reached for him again, he jerked his arm out of reach despite the obvious pain it caused him to do so. Then it dawned on her. "Do you not want me to heal you," Hawke asked quietly, "because I would use magic to do so? What if we bandaged you up the old fashioned way?"

"Magic existed long before bandages did," said Fenris by way of reply. Her answering smile seemed to crush his resolve as he added with a sigh, "But I would rather you than the abomination."

"I am so pleased to hear that I am the favorite," she said sardonically but her earlier words seemed to have had the intended effect. With a great effort that she was sure was exaggerated, Fenris removed his hand, exposing the gaping wound in his upper arm. He winced at the salty air as she unbuckled the arm of his lightweight armor with great care.

"Well, I suppose its official now," he suddenly said –presumably to Hawke as she mopped up the blood before reaching into her pack for something. "I have traveled from the northern ocean to the southern."

"Is it much different?" she asked, careful to keep her tone casual as she uncorked the bottle of Varric's favorite brandy.

"Water is water–" He cut himself off, hissing at the sting of the amber liquid spilled over the gash. Hawke grinned; Fenris looked back at her with annoyance. "Ow," he said long after the pain must have subsided. "Why do you always come out of these fights without a scratch?"

"Because I stay back, I'm female, and I don't glow and call attention to myself." She wiped away the excess alcohol before sitting back on her heels. Gray eyes looked up at him intently. "Will you let me use magic?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"If you want to wait a while for the muscle to recover…" she shrugged.

"Can't have that. It's only a matter of time before Danarius learns of his latest hunters' deaths." An almost imperceptible nod told Hawke to move forward.

She did, gathering up that pale gold light inside of her that frightened and thrilled her in equal measure. A long exhale followed and the slight glimmer of magic traveled down her arm to wrap around Fenris's. Hawke opened one eye; looked for his reaction. Fenris was staring determinedly at the pale gray horizon.

"Will he ever stop?" she asked.

"No," was his firm answer.

Hawke tried again: "Are you worried?"

"About what?" he tensed as the wound began to close over. "I cannot fear the inevitable."

"But what about… who you left behind?"

"Other slaves?" Fenris said but something told Hawke that that was not the entire truth. "The circumstances of my escape did not involve others. Danarius would have nothing to gain by torturing any of them for information. But I suppose that he might, to vent his frustration."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? It is hardly your fault."

"I… sympathize."

"Sympathizing requires similar circumstances." His voice was hard but his arm began to shake. "You do not seem one who was ever kept on a leash."

"Keep still!" She closed her hand around his wrist, jerked his arm back into place. Grabbing his wrist had the opposite effect; he tensed even more, pulled out of reach. "I'm not finished."

"I am." Fenris got to his feet and there was nothing Hawke could do to stop him.

So she got up too. "What's wrong?" she asked to his retreating back. "What did I say?"

"There was nothing you could have said," he threw back at her. "That is what you did not understand."

Hawke would have gone after him, followed Fenris away from the clearing, but Varric's hand on her arm stopped her. She looked back at sympathetic brown eyes. "You'd better not, Hawke," he told her with a quirk of a smile.

"And why not?" she demanded.

"This sort of thing is usually the beginning of a bad romance," the dwarf answered with a nonchalant shrug. "And I'm not sure you want that. You've got too much on your plate, what with this expedition we've got to plan."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure that analysis is entirely objective, Varric. But why a _bad_ romance?"

"Whatever those magisters did to him back in Tevinter, Broody's pretty messed up. He might be too far gone for even you to fix." He shrugged again. "Some people are like that. They're just broken and in the end nobody wants to be the idiot trying to thread a string through a broken nut, let alone if you have to buy a whole new trigger to begin with."

"Fenris isn't a crossbow, Varric."

"Yeah?" he didn't sound convinced. "Well then you'd better watch that flirting-tension-thingy you two have going on. Otherwise, you might just end up naming one of your knives after him. Probably the pointier one with the red hilt that you like to throw around."

"But I always go and find it again," Hawke pointed out.

"After ten minutes of searching, you do." He studied her face and then lowered his voice to something gentler. "You know, sometimes the wait to fix something turns out to be worth it."

She turned a crooked smile on her friend. "But what's the price to begin with?"

…

**A/N:** It's been a while but I'm still working on this! I hope you enjoyed. :)


	21. 021 Generosity

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**021: Generosity**

Fenris wasn't to be found in any of the rooms of his purloined Hightown mansion.

Ariadne Hawke fanned her flushed face with the grimy book in her hand. It was late summer in Kirkwall and it felt as though not a single window had been opened in the house, allowing the humid air to gather and sit. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, the ivy running up the mansion's exterior casting strange shadows over the pockmarked parquet floor. Dust floated in pockets of daylight and Hawke resisted the urge to sneeze at the sight of the dancing particles. Eventually –after several attempts at resistance –she did and the sound echoed through empty halls. No: he wasn't here.

She started up the grand staircase to his favored room in the grand house. Touching the banister resulted in a hand coated in gray; Hawke supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Fenris very rarely allowed himself to be supported by _anything_.

The door at the top of the stairs was open and Hawke could not resist looking in. Usually, he was here and whenever she roamed in his mansion, his green eyes followed her. She would never stop to look at anything for long, for fear of provoking him –no, _fear_ could not be the right word. She was not afraid of Fenris; it was just easier not to provoke him. But that was beside the point; the matter at hand was that she had never had a chance to explore this room's contents without Fenris looking over her shoulder.

The candles on the long wooden table were down to stubs and still burning, even though it was nearly midday. With a bit of paper pinched between her thumb and index finger, she extinguished each flame, all the while considering making a gift of candles or maybe a key to her estate's extensive storerooms. She had more than her household of four (not counting the cook) could use. Why not share it? She dismissed the thought even as it came to mind. He would never accept her generosity; how could she forget?

There was an open book next to the now smoking candles. Hawke couldn't read the language. It must be Arcanum. The spine had been broken in two places, almost as though the volume had been… thrown against a wall. Hawke's lips quirked upward in a smile, remembering the shattered glass and spilled wine that had marked their second meeting.

There was a pile of broken jewelry under the table. It looked as though it had been valuable but the delicate gold chains were broken, clasps damaged beyond repair. Hawke stared at the silver bracelet in her hand and wondered if Fenris had broken the heavy links with his bare hands.

"If I remember correctly," a deep voice broke Hawke out of her reverie, "that was a gift from Danarius to Agrippa."

She spun around and the sight of Fenris in the doorway called a dozen different responses to mind: _I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here. I didn't mean to snoop. How did you sneak up on me like that? _But what came out instead was: "Who was Agrippa?"

"Danarius's mistress or she was at the time that I left." His nose wrinkled with distaste. "She was a pitiful creature."

"That's generous of you. I didn't think you would feel pity for a magister." She dropped the silver bracelet onto the table. "Any magister."

"Agrippa had no magical talent. Her brother was the man whose favor Danarius was really trying to court." He dropped a bag of bread onto the floor and leaned his sword against the wall. "I take it your meeting with the Arishok ended quickly?"

"Apparently someone is running around with a recipe for poisonous gas."

"Gatlock," Fenris's lips curled. "Very foolish. And I suppose you volunteered to go running after it?"

Hawke shrugged. "He wants me to. What choices do I have?"

"It would seem that you have very few." His green eyes moved away from her and traced the line of the table, lingering on the open book and the extinguished candles. His silence made her feel ashamed.

"I… didn't mean to pry. You weren't here and I was curious. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Isabela has been in here half a dozen times, probably looking for my smallclothes." Hawke giggled in a very un-Hawke-like manner and Fenris smiled a very un-Fenris-like smile. He moved to join her at the table, surveying the items she had been perusing earlier. "Very few of these are my own possessions. You see little of my life in these trinkets."

"None of these are yours?"

"Like this mansion, they belonged to Danarius. Now, also like this mansion," he smiled a wolfish, more-typical-Fenris smile, "they belong to me."

"Did you not take anything with you when you escaped?"

"Whatever I took, I quickly discarded. I wished no reminder of my former life."

_A little counterproductive, _thought Hawke to herself idly, _living in this place. _"You really wanted nothing to do with your past."

"Not that past." Hawke thought about asking him what he meant by that but she chose not to. "That was before the hunters started coming after me and I realized I had to do something about Danarius of course. I take it you came here for a reason."

Those last words caught her off guard. She froze, nearly stuttered out her next words. "I have something for you."

She held the book out like a peace offering; he didn't reach out to take it. He gazed at the cover and his mouth slowly set into a stubborn line. "And what do you propose I do with this?"

"Read it?" He did not say anything further. She tried again. "Shartan was a slave–"

"I know Shartan was a slave," Fenris quickly cut her off. "What of it?"

"He freed himself."

"And what of it?" he repeated, traces of anger detectable in his voice and tense stance.

Hawke could not help but be confused. Like an idiot, she said, "He freed himself. It's… I suppose I thought it was a little like you."

"Yes, Shartan was a slave and he freed himself," Fenris summed up in a few irritable words. "And that is where the similarities end. He was born a slave, as was I. We have little else in common. I am no leader of men."

"I didn't mean to compare the two of you," said Hawke defensively in return. "I just thought you might like something new to read." She nodded at the open book on the table.

He followed her gaze and then stared at her incredulously. "You think I know how to read?" he asked, almost growling at her. "How many slaves do you suppose know how to read?"

Hawke looked away –at anything but at him –and then made herself meet his angry green eyes. "You could learn."

"You think I haven't been trying?" He smacked both hands down on the table; the silver bracelet clattered against the broken tiles. Hawke watched a candle roll across the floor until it bumped against the bench, close to her foot.

Fenris reached for the book of Arcanum, obviously with the intent of tossing it out the window or something equally dramatic. Hawke slammed her palm down on the open pages, locked his gaze with her own. "Don't start throwing things," she told him. "I could teach you if you would stop being so damn stubborn and proud and insisting you have to do things on your own."

"I shouldn't need a teacher," he snapped back at her. "I should already know these things. At what age did you learn how to read, Hawke? I should have learned then; every slave in Tevinter should have learned then. But because I was born a slave, I did not. I could not. And I should have been able to. And, now that I am a free man, it is nothing short of humiliating that I cannot."

It was a moment before Hawke found her voice: "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he told her. "None of this is your fault. I shouldn't be angry with you."

"I just thought that maybe you would like it–"

"And I do," Fenris surprised her by saying. "I appreciate the thought and what the book symbolizes, even if I can't read it."

"But, Fenris, you could." She took a step toward him. "Fenris, you could learn."

Slowly, she held the book out to him. And, gently, he took it from her. When the tome was firmly in his hands –maybe their fingers had touched a moment longer than necessary –she let her arms drop back to her sides and looked up at him. Almost shy, Hawke asked, "Am I invited to stay longer? Maybe we could… start."

"Now?" he asked in return.

"Why not?" She shrugged. "Well? Am I allowed to stay?"

His voice, when he finally spoke, was almost rough. "You can… come here any time that you like."


	22. 022 Method

**Some Lovers**

_A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet_

**022: Method**

Fenris had brought the wine and, as the night went on, it became clear that he was not going to share it. This night's selfishness was just one event in a long track record of conceit and "me first" behavior and Aveline was not going to let him get away with it.

"Alright, Fenris, I'm just going to go out and say it," said the guard captain of close to three years. "You need to learn how to share."

"Such a sudden desire to drown one's sorrows in wine's sweet embrace," commented Isabela to no one in particular as she lounged across Varric's bed. "Could a little heartache be stirring in the otherwise icy guard captain?"

Aveline's face reddened. "Shut up, whore."

"That's not what those copper marigolds said," Varric chuckled as he tenderly polished Bianca.

"You told." Aveline rounded on Hawke, mint green eyes accusing. "Ariadne, how could you?"

Twin spots of pink appeared on Hawke's otherwise pale complexion. "I did not. I asked for advice. I never said who the advice was for."

"Whatever makes you feel better," Isabela smirked. Rolling onto her stomach, the pirate propped her chin up on her hand and declared, "I think I need to compose a sonnet. What rhymes with 'Donnic'?"

"Tonic?" Fenris suggested, still nursing his bottle as Aveline shook her head in defeat.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet Donnic/ Your love is like a poison/ I shall need a tonic." Isabela smirked again, counting out the syllables. "Try imprinting that in copper and sending it to him."

"Is that how the whore gets her men?" said Aveline conversationally to Hawke. "She starts spouting poetry at them and they'll do anything to shut her up."

"Not always," Isabela replied with a sideways glance at Varric. "Not if they're dirty poems."

"Alright," said Aveline, turning to square off with the pirate captain. "So how do you get so many lovers? You're not that pretty."

"Some people are actually attracted to me. But you already knew that." Isabela's brown eyes roamed around Varric's suite. "And it isn't as though you approve of my methods, guard captain. Why don't we ask…Hawke?"

"No, let's not ask Hawke," said the woman in question, closing the newest edition of Varric's serial. "There is nothing to ask Hawke about; I have no love life to speak of."

"No, you don't, do you?" Isabela tapped her index finger against her chin. "Not since the viscount's son got over that cute little crush. What was his name again? Or how about Anders? What rhymes with that?"

"No more rhyming," Fenris suddenly said. Hawke glanced across the room at him in surprise. "It is too late in the night."

"Then share the wine if you can't keep up with Isabela's dazzling wit," said Varric in return.

"Or take a nap?" suggested Isabela, already closing her brown eyes. "I know I plan to."

"I plan to sleep in my own bed tonight," declared Aveline, grabbing her shield and sword from where they were propped up against the wall beside Fenris's weapon.

"And there's your problem, big girl."

"Good night," said Aveline, ignoring Isabela's mumbling. "And, Hawke: we need to deal with that slaving operation out of Darktown. Anders gave me a tip…"

"No more talking," replied Hawke, sinking down onto the carpet beside Fenris, her blonde head lulling back against the wooden paneling. Her gray eyes were already half-closed. "I'll see you in the morning."

They all heard the sound of Aveline's angry stomping down the stairs and Hawke opened one eye to survey the suite. Isabela was already lightly snoring, Varric was unusually quiet. Fenris was silent but awake beside her, the bottle of wine still in his hand.

"Give me that," she held out her hand. Surprisingly, he acquiesced. She took a couple of sips and then said, "This is good."

"It is Tevinter. It is good at a high price."

"How much?"

"How much is the blood and sweat of slaves worth to you?"

Wrinkling her nose, she studied the bottle again, swishing around its contents. "I hope you're joking."

"Do you remember that mine, the Bone Pit, and its history?"

"How could I forget?" she rolled her eyes.

"Ask me again if I'm 'joking'."

"Alright: I get it," she took another swig, just to annoy him. "No more questions." She paused. "Just tell me this: why did you come here if you didn't want company?"

"I could not resist –what was it? –oh yes: Isabela's 'dazzling wit.'"

Hawke was taken aback. Since when had he ever expressed an interest in Isabela? All that the pirate talked to him about was oil and smallclothes. She was beginning to reevaluate her entire opinion on the male gender when he spoke up again: "Why did you sit next to me?"

"You're overanalyzing things."

"Then, by your own argument, so were you."

Her breath caught in her throat. Discreetly, she coughed into her hand. "Do you plan to stay the night here?"

"Do you?"

"Are you going to turn my every question around to bite me?"

Fenris shrugged. "I was only going to say that, if you were, I would be happy to walk you back to your estate. It's dangerous to travel alone."

"You do it all of the time."

"My appearance discourages curiosity. Yours does not."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Surely I do not have to state the obvious." His lips curved in a small smile that was somehow pleasing to Hawke's eyes. It was almost as pleasing as what followed: "You are a woman and you are beautiful. Surely you realize this."

"I'll stay," Hawke suddenly decided, feeling her face flush and wondering how he had managed to trap her like this. Did she ever stand a chance once he said those words? "But I plan to sleep. No more drinking." She thrust the bottle back at him before clambering onto the chaise longue. Turning back to look at him again, she added, "And your flattery has improved. Have you been practicing your method?"

"Recent events seem to have inspired me," he shrugged again, his efforts appearing artless with that gesture.

Hawke smiled to herself as she lay down on the chaise, thanking the Maker that Isabela would never be able to find a word that rhymed with "Fenris."


End file.
